


To Find That Comfortable Peace

by LilyHellsing



Category: Courage the Cowardly Dog
Genre: Au!HumanAnimals, F/F, F/M, Feels, Romance, Suspense, schemes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyHellsing/pseuds/LilyHellsing
Summary: AU!HumanAnimals. There are so many villains that go after the Bagge family, so who would have thought Courage and them would befriend a pair of scheming thieves? Life is finally looking up for Clara, until a slip up costs her everything. Now the villains are moving in and it's a question of whether that comfortable peace could ever be rebuilt.
Relationships: Bunny/Kitty (Courage the Cowardly Dog), katz/OC, light Cajun Fox/OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Her eyes hurt. It wasn’t from the late hour, of which she was accustomed to, or allergies, of which she had none. It was from all the damn smoke she had subjected herself to in the makeshift, questionably-legal casino. It was Mad Dog’s casino, an infamous place that served strong drinks, heavy bets, and a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. It was a great place to hit up once every few months, but it wrecked her eyes for a day or so afterwards.

Clara Minnie (‘Winnie’ was her nickname on the streets) took great cares in her practice. Casinos were a treat, a rarity among her typical scams. When she did go in, she made sure to lose just enough sporadically rather than go on a winning streak. She changed her makeup, her hair color, and her clothes for every job. Given that she lived in a town that was more animals than humans, she made sure to even wear some false cat or dog ears and tails -- depending on her mood. 

She alternated between the human cities, where there were just humans plain as day, and the majority-animal cities. It was common then, part of their world, to have those who looked humans...but had distinct animal features. Clara was so very glad to have been born human, mostly because that meant she could wear so many more disguises -- cats, dogs, turtles, ducks, foxes, and more. 

And damn was she good at it.

For the past twenty-off years of her life, she had been out on her luck, forced to make her own as she had been forced to make her own security net. Clara didn’t have a family, not really. The only few she considered family were the ones she considered close friends, the ones who had grown up with her on the street. They survived together, took beatings together, celebrated victories together. There weren’t many of those around, her friends. There was one, and he was with her tonight.

Francis ‘Frankie’ Dillard was across the room, a distinctly average looking dog who no one would think twice to glance at. Simple clothes, simple glasses, simple skills. He, too, lost just enough to make it subtle when he won. He would keep ‘breaking even’, except for the times he managed a jump of a few hundred from cheating. 

Francis and Clara, who had dressed like a cat this time, were friends from the beginning of their short-lived educational career. They met back in third grade, friends til the time of drop out at the age of fifteen, and close buddies every since then. Not that this was going to be relevant to tonight’s game. The pair didn’t know each other, didn’t even give one another a second glance. They were the perfect strangers, just as they were the perfect pair of thieves. 

Mad Dog’s casino was a high risk, high gain place. Security looked frightening and seemed to be everywhere. Men with short tails, short tempers, and sensitive ears that picked up the slightest scrape of a card that shouldn’t have been there. They were muscular and intimidating, and because of that, the pair made damn sure to blend in and act discrete. Just enough alcohol, just enough loss, just enough...simplicity. 

Because if they got caught? Neither cared to imagine the answer. There had been stories of people disappearing if they were lucky -- if they were unlucky, they finished off their lives in chains. Not out in the open, no, but with their spirits sucked out of them to where if they were to attend and serve at one of Mad Dog’s private functions? No one would notice. No one would question. They were just like pieces of furniture, there to exist and not more.

It was getting late and Clara knew now was the time to leave with a profit. She wouldn’t miss the smoke-filled room for the next six months or so. So when she stood, making sure to look a bit wobbly on her legs from the three martinis she had put away, she felt cautiously satisfied. The money she got had been swapped out with the chips. A very pretty penny indeed. 

She made her way to the elevator, aware of a guard’s gaze on her, and made sure to sway her hips just enough to make her ‘tail’ flicker. When the elevator door opened, she stepped in and hit the ‘G’ button for ground floor. It was only when the doors shut did she let out a breath she had been holding.

Francis would be out in the next hour or so. She would stay up and wait for him at their shared house out on the skirts of the city. Oh, they had saved up and scammed their way into that house. It was cute and cozy, out in the middle of nearly Nowhere. They had knocked out several thousand from the asking price because there had suddenly been documentation showing there was a drug bust there not too long ago. Of course the papers had been fake, but they had worked. Now they lived together, shelter taken care of solidly for the first time in several years. No more shelters, no more hiding in boxes, no more sleeping behind buildings or in alleyways. They had a  _ home _ .

**Ding** .

Clara tensed. The elevator wasn’t on the Ground floor yet, it had barely hit the second floor. Why was it stopping? By the time she had made herself look calm, relaxed, and no-where-near-as-sober-as-she-really-was, the doors opened. It revealed...a rabbit. 

Not just any rabbit, but a dolled up one. She was a lovely, perfumed creature who wore a thick, plush white fur coat that looked as expensive as the house had been. Her hair was a soft pink in the light, poofy, and her ears, rabbit ears, twitched as her eyes landed on Clara. “Hello.” She greeted, her voice sounding like cotton candy. Clara smiled and nodded, making sure to tilt ever so slightly as if it had cost her her balance. “Oh!” The rabbit reached out and caught Clara’s arm just as the doors shut. “Are you alright?”

The sound of the women’s high heels were loud in the small box of an elevator. The scent of her perfume was even sharper, filling up the entire area. From the movement, Clara caught sight of several shiny, pricey diamonds on the rabbit’s wrist, fingers, ears...and her neck. But her neck was actually rather...modest. The necklace, that was. It looked more of a collar, a choker of velvet, with one single, thick diamond on it. How curious...and how expensive, Clara thought.

“Ahaha, yes, yes, just fine, dear.” Clara smiled wide as she stood straight once more. “Had a bit much to drink...had to cheer myself up a bit from my losses. All in good fun though, you know. All in good fun.” There was an appropriate amount of lag on her words, slurred articulation. “My, you look like you’re going out for a night on the town. Absolutely stunning, you are!” The voice Clara used was fake, all of it. The tone, the accent, the emotion. Never the same one twice.

Assured that Clara wouldn’t fall, the rabbit stood straight and absolutely beamed. “Hehe, thank you! Yes, I’m visiting with my best friend tonight.” She looked positively radiant, brighter than the jewels she wore. “I’m sorry to hear about your losses though.” Unlike Clara, the girl seemed to be very sincere.

Clara’s grin was a bit more authentic then. “It happens.” She brushed it off. “So a friend, huh? Well you be safe out there. There are- are, uh, there are lots of baddies around the city.” Like the one in the elevator with her, who was wondering if there was a way to slip one of her rings off if Clara were to ‘fall’ again. 

**Ding.**

“Oh, hehe, no worries there!” The rabbit said. “I have protection for me and Kitty. Oh, that’s her name, my friend, Kitty. And how rude of me!” She exclaimed. The doors opened. “I’m Bunny.”

Any thought of taking a ring off that delicate little hand of hers was instantly wiped clean from Clara’s mind because there at the door stood another woman. This one, however, looked sharper and far, far more cynical. Short red hair, dark green eyeshadow that highlighted her vividly bright green eyes, a sophisticated nightclub outfit coupled with a fur scarf, and a look that seemed alert and suspicious. Her cat ears twitched and Clara felt as if she saw through her ruse. 

“Bess,” Clara introduced her false profile and shook the rabbit’s hand. There was disappointment in her when she removed her hand and had no ring in it. “Nice ta meet ya Bunny.” She smiled at the woman at the doorway. Clara had to be bland, forgettable.

“Kitty!” Bunny exclaimed with delight and all but threw herself to the woman to hug her. “Are you ready?”

As Bunny and Clara stepped out of the elevator, Kitty stepping out of the way, Clara felt a strange sensation. It was unease. That wasn’t common to feel, but she felt it now, under Kitty’s gaze. She thought it best to exit and exit quickly. “Well then, you two ladies have fun...and be safe.” She smiled and started to walk away, focusing harder in making her false-tail swish, in making it seem like she needed to ‘walk one off’. 

Whatever the true cat-woman said to Bunny, Clara only barely registered the tone of her voice -- deep, hypnotic, and seductive -- before she realized what Bunny’s ‘protection’ was. It was guards. Three of them not more than a yard away, three dog guards from Mad Dog, waiting for the two women.

Clara felt her stomach churn and she had to swallow a bit of panic and fear. They weren’t looking at her -- she was a nobody, after all -- but at the women. Still, that meant...that Bunny was  _ Mad Dog’s _ . Clara was never more grateful to have disappeared into the night than she was at that moment. Still, those eyes, Kitty’s eyes...they stuck in her memory and haunted her as if she were following Clara.


	2. Chapter 2

“Woo-hoo!” Francis shouted as he twirled a laughing Clara around in their living room. “And just like that, doll, we are twenty thousand dollars richer!” 

Clara spun around with Francis once her feet touched the ground, their own little private waltz in which the music played on in their heads. “I can’t believe it!” She gasped breathlessly with excitement, “Twenty thousand! We can relax! We can done for the winter! Oh, this is magnificent, Francis!” 

It had taken quite a while - three months to be exactly - to plan out for every detail of their latest, most successful plot. In a human city, they had managed to make out with a few precious watches, jewelry, and plans from a visiting politician to a boozy, sophisticated, uppity ‘playpen’ -- i.e., a brothel. It had been amazingly smooth, Clara and Francis playing the parts of waiters and those cleaning discreetly. All it took was one of the girls to take the politicians and get them drunk to get some loose lips and valuable information to sell.

And here they were, twenty thousand dollars richer!

“Yes, Happy Christmas to us!” He declared as he poured them both more champagne from an expensive bottle. “Of course, anything we do for the next few months will be for fun, not for survival. Oh, to be able to enjoy ourselves at last!” 

The pair cheered and took a drink. Clara plopped onto the couch and put her feet up on the table. Normally Francis would swat her legs away, not wanting damage to the coffee table, but this time, so delighted was he that he joined her in that stance. “I say, let’s get us a hot tub! Or a pool!”

Clara laughed in between another drink. “In the Middle of Nowhere? Come on, now, the sun would drink up any sort of water we buy! A waste of money. That’s exactly why we can’t keep grass growing around here except in small patches. Too damn hot!” 

“We’ll put up a canopy above the pool and the hot tub to keep the water in there!” Francis proposed.

Clara snorted. “So now there’s an ‘and’?” She stuck her tongue out at him and he mirrored her. “Maybe...a hot tub  _ does  _ sound nice now that the nights are getting colder.” And if she let herself fantasize for a moment, she did find a certain...appeal to it. 

“Mmm, it would relax you.” Francis continued. “Picture it: it’s snowing all around us, piles of it, while we sit in that hot tub with a cup of Bailey’s and a hint of hot cocoa. Warm, steamy...enjoying the fruits of our labor.”

Clara turned to look at him, her close friend, her only real friend, and frowned. “You forgot the marshmallows.” 

Francis laughed and threw his arm around her, hugging her tightly. “So I did! How foolish of me! What would I do without you, Clara?” 

She smiled and laughed as well, feeling a surge of warmth within her at the hug. “You’d be dreadfully bored, that’s for sure.” She teased. “You wouldn’t have anyone to scheme with so you’d probably be pulling some really dull schemes.”

Francis nearly choked on his drink as he laughed. “Oh, so you’re saying you’re the brains?!” He hugged her tighter, keeping her close. Their noses nearly touched. There was a pause and before Clara could remark, the man’s hazel eyes softened. “You are, you know.” He agreed, the teasing no longer there.

Clara inhaled deeply. The pair had flirted before, had teased, and maybe even had gotten lonely a time or two. But...it was never beyond that. And this? This felt dangerously close to...to something more. Clara had to break it before it happened. “If I am, it’s only because you’re the sharpest pair of eyes to have around here.” She turned away and polished off her drink before standing. “Shall we go out for a night on the town?”

If Francis felt resentment or hesitation, he didn’t show it. True to his form, he recovered quickly and mirrored her, adding more of a bounce to his step. “Absolutely! Go get your prettiest gown on and I’ll meet you up front.” 

It was safer this way, Clara thought as she made her way upstairs. It was less messy this way. She needed a partner in crime, nothing else. Francis knew that and anything else...well, it had been the intoxication of the success and champagne talking.

Yes, that was it.

~

The pair of friends had gone out nearly every night for the past week. Like before, they never went to the same place twice. They traveled from city to city, even donning the usual disguises -- cats, dogs, foxes, ducks, rabbits. It was best to keep their identities as discreet as possible. It was fun...more than fun, it was  _ fantastic _ .

By the weekend, however, Clara asked if they could stay in. “I think I’ve got up a dress size with all that fancy food and drink.” She half-joked.

Francis snorted softly. “Hell, you and me both.” Clara snickered. “In any case...think our neighbors are coming for a visit.”

“Oh yeah?” Clara found herself actually excited for that. “It’s been a while since we played ‘normal’. What should I cook?”

“Everything except dessert,” he said as Clara got up from the couch to go to the kitchen, “I told Muriel to bring her famous Happy Plums.”

Clara made a noise of anticipation. “ _ That  _ is something money can’t buy. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into those.” She started to go through her freezer. “How about some stuffed chicken, green beans, and wheat rolls?”

“Sounds great, Clarie. I’ll make the iced tea.” Francis contributed, using her nickname. And just like that, it felt like a slice of life, of normality. 

As strange as it was, Clara and Francis had neighbors in the near-middle of Nowhere. Well, it wasn’t like the typical city-neighbors, but it was country-neighbors. Muriel, Eustace, and Courage Bagge all lived in the middle of Nowhere. Clara and Francis lived about seven miles from them, but they were, of all luck, the closest ‘neighbors’ either could get. No one else lived nearby for a couple dozen miles. Even the cities were a good thirty or so miles away of nothing in-between. Muriel and Eustace were an elderly human couple who had adopted a dog-human, Courage, when he was a child. They were all fairly kind and nice.

Courage, who was about the age of Clara, was exceedingly timid. She suspected that was why he stayed with the Bagge couple even though he was old enough to get a job and move out. Oh, to have that sort of support, Clara thought.

Eustace was a grumpy old man, but he and Francis, who had honed his skills to be a social chameleon, got along well enough. Often talks of sports, money, and other ‘manly’ hobbies took up their time. 

Muriel was the typical sweet old grandmotherly type. At first, Clara had been suspicious of it. Surely no one was really so kind-hearted and endearing! And yet...the more times they visited one another, the more Clara began to believe that Muriel, and Courage by proxy, were the exception to the rule. Muriel was everything Clara never had growing up, and she cherished their visits all the more.

To hear they were coming to dinner made Clara happy. It was a different sort of happiness, not the sort of pulling off a scheme, but the like of contentment and ease. So she spent the afternoon cooking, hearing the television Francis had on as background noise on and off. 

Before she knew it, it was dinnertime.

**Knock, knock, knock.**

Clara looked up as she tossed the rolls in the oven. Dinner would be ready in ten minutes -- how perfect. Francis called out that he would get the door. The Bagge family was perhaps the only family that Francis and Clara could afford to be as close to ‘themselves’ as they could be with anyone. They did not wear disguises, but they also didn’t explain everything they did. So when she heard Muriel and Courage come into the kitchen - clearly it was ‘men time’ in the living room, as per normal - Clara reflected quietly that she felt no anxiety in being herself in physical form, or personality...to a degree. That level of comfortability spoke highly, more so than these two would ever know of their relationship.

“Courage, Muriel! Welcome!” She hugged the old lady, enjoying the hold, before she turned to Courage. Ever anxious, Courage shyly offered a hug, to which Clara made it a point to crush his bones in the greeting. “You’re both looking good!” She reached up and lightly ran her fingertips over Courage’s velvety dog ears. “Feel like you’ve grown, pup.” She teased him.

Courage was, and always had been, about two inches shorter than her. She couldn’t help but jab at him, all in good fun. His ears flattened, then twitched. “Have I?” His voice was light, cracked, and warm.

Clara poked at his stomach. “Well, in one way rather than the other.” She winked. “But with access to the Great Chief Muriel, I can’t blame you!” She took the bowl of Happy Plums from Muriel and put them in the fridge.

“You’re looking well yourself, Clara, dear.” Muriel chuckled softly. “You look positively glowing!” To anyone else, one may have asked if there was some great news; however, Muriel was Muriel, good-natured and thinking the best of everyone. There was no second thought in her mind, but just that observation. It was why Clara could relax near them, largely speaking.

“Thank you,” she nodded. “Care for some iced tea? Francis just made it.” 

“Oh please, yes, if it isn’t too much trouble, dearie.”

“Please, have a seat in the living room and I’ll bring it to you. Dinner will be ready in ten.” Once Muriel wandered off, Clara glanced at Courage. He was sniffing the air, the aromas of dinner intoxicating. “How’s it been going, Courage?”

As Clara picked up the pitcher and poured into five glasses, Courage leaned against the counter on his elbow. “It’s okay. I started another story. Three chapters in.”

Clara’s blue eyes flickered up and she smiled, mindful not to spill any drink. “Oh really?! That’s great. What’s this one about?” Courage sold short stories in order to make ends meet at the farm. Chickens and gardens were great, but there were still things that certain trade couldn’t barter for. 

Courage ran a hand through his lavender hair, wincing when it caught a tangle. “It’s about a cursed tablet taken from Egypt and how the archeologist tries to survive each plague. I haven’t decided yet how it ends.”

“Sounds suspenseful,” Clara agreed as she handed him his tea, “I can’t wait to read it. Let me know if you need some opinions early on.” 

“I will! I might write a couple different endings if you want to read them all. And Francis too.” Courage offered shyly before taking a drink. He and Francis got along well too, though Courage definitely gravitated towards Clara.

“Absolutely, my friend. Come on, let’s go join the others. Dinner is almost done, but we can take a seat for a bit.”

~

After dinner, everyone had a cup of Happy Plums, even Eustace, and a cup of decaf coffee. Clara made a cup of tea just for Muriel. It was all very nice and lovely, a night to remember in terms of simple pleasures, which could and were often the best sort. Not that Clara would ever admit that out loud, for that suggested then that she lacked the simple pleasures up until she met the Bagge family. It wasn’t wrong, she just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Francis offered to wash the dishes and Courage joined him. As the two were at the sink, hearing Eustace snoring and the women chatting softly from the living room, Francis looked up at Courage, who was drying.

“So,” he started, “find anyone special, pup?” ‘Pup’ was a nickname both Francis and Clara used with Courage. He wasn’t younger than them, not by much if at all, but in terms of worldly experience? He was a pup. 

Courage’s soft purple eyes flickered up to the chestnut haired man and blinked, taking hold of a freshly clean mug to dry. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Francis did a wiggle of sorts with his shoulders, “ _ someone special _ .” He knew Courage had finally understood by the way he turned as red as a strawberry. Francis chuckled and shook his head. “So you have!”

“N-no! I haven’t, no!” In his distress, the mug Courage held knocked against the sink. It didn’t break, but the noise made him jump further.

Francis decidedly put away some of his mirth. “Calm down, calm down boy...I'm just teasing you. Come on now, take a deep breath or else Clara will have my head -- and nevermind what Muriel would do.”

Taking his advice, the purple haired boy took three large deep breaths before he had calmed down and returned to his natural color. He finished wiping down the mug and put it away before picking up another. “...I haven’t,” he said at last, “though I...did join a..website.” And there was that pink hue in his cheeks once more. 

“Attaboy!” Francis would have clapped his shoulder, but given the size of the boy, as well as his own sudsy hands, he knew it wouldn’t be wise. “That’s how you do it, take one step forward at a time.” He nodded sagely. “First the website, then messages, then meetings.” He paused as he placed a wet, clean plate on the other side of the sink for Courage. “Er...be sure you let me or Clarie know about the meeting before you go, okay?” If he knew people, he knew not to trust them. Courage was a kind guy and Francis didn’t want him taken advantage of. 

Courage slowed his drying down, glancing up at Francis hesitantly. “And...you?” That was a social conversation, wasn’t it? The back and forth? 

“Me what?” Francis scrubbed hard at a spot on the plate he held. Damn, he needed to get a new sponge, or at least one of those wooly brillo pads.

“Have  _ you  _ found someone special?” 

The way that Courage had asked, such a shy but perceptive way, made Francis stop his movements. He didn’t look at him, but stared out the window above the sink. He gave a soft noise, ‘heh’, and looked back at the plate before scrubbing it once more. “I have Clara...you know that, pup.” He turned the water on just enough to rinse the plate clean of suds. Ah, damn, still a spot. He went back to scrubbing it.

Courage turned towards Francis now, his eyes boring into him. “You two are friends...that’s it. Right?” 

Feeling the weighed gaze on him, Francis, who was also getting frustrated with how he couldn’t get this damn spot from the plate off, turned with a huff. “Now why would you be saying that, boy? We live in the same house, we visit together, we pay bills together...your Muriel and Eustace in there seem content enough to think we’re together like they are, a couple. What makes you say otherwise?” Did it disturb Francis, to know that the dog had seen through their play? Not that they were these sorts of people who gave into public displays of affection, but neither were Muriel and Eustace, so of course the old couple thought them a couple.

But what part, aside from that, had placed doubt in Courage’s mind?

Courage shrugged a bit, drying cloth in hand. “Writer’s intuition I guess,” he wasn’t entirely sure himself. If he were to be honest, it was in the way Clara looked sometimes. She would have a sort of look in her eyes or how she would say something. Truthfully, Courage felt the feeling but couldn’t find the words to it -- for all that was good for writing as a living.

Francis studied him closely. There was no malice or trickery in their purple-haired dog-friend. There never had been and there never would be. He could only find comfort that if Courage had noticed something, the older pair wouldn’t have, for they were nowhere near as sharp. And so long as this... _ this _ did not spill over into their lives in the cities? What did it matter?

“Heh. Ah to be a writer, full of creativity and imagination.” Francis side-stepped answering. He turned and went back to washing the dishes. “Tell me, what’s your new novel about?” Thankfully, Courage turned back to his task as well and began to talk in detail on that.

Yet it did matter, a little, to Francis. Not in terms of being caught, but in the regard that...the dog had seen something few had noticed, something Francis didn’t often care to acknowledge himself. He had picked up that there was a sort of love between Francis and Clara, but anything more than that love was one-sided, and it all belonged to Francis.


	3. Chapter 3

There within her head collected a list of all the heists, schemes, scams, and thieveries Clara and Francis had ever done. To write it down would be the same as putting herself in jail, so it was in her head that she kept general dates, names, places, and activities. It was more for the sake of keeping them safe from accidentally repeating a place or person, but Clara would be a liar if she said she didn’t enjoy the nostalgia of it all.

There was the human city, three of them actually, of one in which they both grew up in. Several jewelry stores, clubs, casinos, and many, many wealthy individuals, and some middle class folk, had been taken advantage of. Of note there was a politician who was no longer a politician in the second human city, mostly because he failed to make the full blackmail ransom of some photos involving him and an individual who was not his partner, that likely held a lifelong grudge against the pair.

Then there were the few animal cities. Very few knew Francis or Clara or even recalled them, so disguised they were at the times. But if Clara were to reflect, she would reflect upon the fox from Louisiana who they had bamboozed out of one of his supposed-famous secret recipes and sold it for thousands. She would reflect upon the duck, who oddly enough did not have a bill as one would expect a human-duck to have, who had attempted to scam them, but was instead framed for their thievery of a jewelry shop and locked up for it. She would even reflect upon red haired cat who had had these horrifyingly large spiders, of which Francis, on his idea, stole one away and sold it to the highest bidder.

There were a few big heists like that that made Clara hum with self-satisfaction. It kept her warm on a cold night because they paid off and it was the firewood they bought with that money, or the heating bill for propane that they paid for, that kept her warm. It was the tea, the hot water, the hot bath that they used the money on that kept her warm at night. 

And there was the age-old mentality that she had been introduced to at the age of seven: take advantage before you’re taken advantage of. It had been a harsh lesson to learn, a rougher one then to implement at first, as she had been young and alone. But once she had found Francis and the two had grown, this became second nature to breathing. There were no hard feelings to the men and women they had taken advantage of and come out the better for it. It was, after all, just business...the way of life.

The pair never took advantage of those less fortunate or those who could not afford to lose a bit though. Why would they? They had been there, and worse, before. When they were able to, Francis and Clara often donated some money, food, and clothes to any of the poor they might encounter in any of the cities they were scamming. It was more than what was done for them as children. Did it keep their guilt at bay by doing it? No, because they felt little to no guilt. Why feel guilty about something when it harmed only those who held excess? 

It was about six months later when Clara decided they needed a replenishment to their funds. To her recollection, it had been plenty of time between her last hit at Mad Dog’s casino as a cat. She would walk in as a dog, not with her natural blond hair, but a wig of black with black ears, a short tail, make up to make her look five years younger, and an outfit of conservative values. She wanted to be admired, but not gaped at or hit on, for that would be too much attention.

Francis was going to hit up another place in town, for the sake of safety. So when Clara entered Mad Dog’s casino under the name of Matilda, she felt nothing amiss. It was like it always was. It was nothing new. There were no red flags, alarms, or sirens going off to signal her to leave. It all looked normal -- including the damn cigarette smoke. Perhaps it was a mistake to wear purple contacts.

No matter. ‘Matilda’ went about going to the black jack table to start with. She ordered a Tom Collins although what she really wanted was an extra dirty martini, which she avoided due to the concern of being too familiar with her previous time here. And so the game went, one round, then three, then five. She broke even there. She moved onto the next table. One more drink. Three rounds. She was up. Another table, another drink, four more rounds, and up again. And so on, so forth.

It was midnight by the time she wanted to call it quits. She was up about a thousand, and had sneaked about three hundred in chips from others’ tables, and her eyes were hurting bad. The contacts were definitely  _ not  _ smoke-proof. It was time to cash in and head home. So she got up, her legs shaky, her short tail twitching, as if she had had too much to drink. She exchanged the chips with cash and slipped away, down the elevator. No Bunny this time -- which was something she found to be a bit disappointing. If she could have another crack at those diamond rings…

**Ding** .

Clara stepped out of the elevator, her purse a bit heavier with all the money in it. She kept it close. She had a large chunk of the rolls in her bra since one could never be too careful. She made sure to look at the very least relaxed as she walked out of the building. Another successful adventure at Mad Dog’s casino!

Or perhaps she had jinxed herself, declaring this inwardly so early. As she made her way around the building down the block, three built, beefy bodies stepped out from the way and blocked her path. She stopped cold and felt her throat close. They were dogs. They were  _ Mad Dog’s  _ dogs. Clara turned on her heels, intending to run the other way -- but there were two of his dog guards there too. She took a step back on impulse but no more. 

“What do you want?” She demanded, her voice cold and harsh. Had she been outed? Had she been too greedy in taking so much money? Had they recognized her?

It turned out that all three questions were simple enough to answer: yes.

“Mad Dog told us ‘bout you.” One of the guards said behind her. She didn’t look. “Said that a cat came in a while back and cheated the place out of a few grand. ‘Course now you’ve turned into a dog...but it was you, he said, because Bunny recognized ya.”

Cold dread gripped her heart then. Shit. Bunny? That little elevator visit had meant so much to her, did it, that she had seen past Clara’s disguise? There was so much to unpack in that, but now wasn’t the time. Clara held her purse tighter to her chest then. “I’ll scream if you touch me.” She refused to give in easily. “I don’t know who you think I am,” better to down through it all, “but I haven’t done anything! I won my money tonight fair and square! I lost money too! You can’t rob me just because...because some broad mistook me for someone else!”

She had never been in this situation before, not alone. At least with Francis, she would have had a chance to fight and do some damage, of escape. This though? Five against her? She blinked hard a few times -- the damn smoke had really fucked with her contacts and her eyes. “Get away!” She shouted, feeling panic start to rise. She tried to fight it down, but her vision was blurry and she was at a distinct disadvantage. When the guards around her chuckled, no doubt amused at the idea of anyone on this street that Mad Dog owned giving a damn about her, she felt true fear take root in her gut. 

She started to shout something else when a new sound broke the silence of the street. It was tires on the road. She looked over to her side just as a car stopped. The driver shouted across to the passenger side, “Get in!” 

As if a puppet, she followed his command. Clara threw her energy into running the yard, dodging a few hands that attempted to grab at her, and got into the car. Hardly a moment after she shut the door, they sped off! Panting more from the rush of it all than the short sprint, Clara looked at the rear view mirror, then over her shoulder behind her at the shrinking sight of the guards. 

So much for ever going back to Mad Dog’s.

“Thank you,” she managed to gasp out, remembering her manners, “thank you so much. Those men, they were going to rob me.” Even in her panic and haze, on some level, she knew to play the part. “I can’t thank you enough, who knows what else they may have done.” 

It was dark in the car, the interior lit up only by the passing streetlights for moments. Even then, her eyesight was still blurred from the smoke and the irritated contacts. She couldn’t really make out her savior, not clearly. “Please, let me repay you...I have some cash, it’s the least I can do.” 

Her heart rate started to calm as the man spoke. “It was my pleasure, Miss…?”

“Matilda.” The actress in her kept on. “And who do I have to thank as my rescuer?” From what little bit she could tell, more focused on him than the drive that they were still taking to somewhere, he wore a dark red sweater and purple pants. If she squinted, she believed he had dark red hair and cat ears. 

“Katz.” It didn’t mean anything to her, the name, until he gave her a sidelong look and their eyes, however irritated hers were at that moment, and then she realized who he was. She knew those eyes. She had been haunted by a very, very similar pair not six months ago. “Of  _ Katz Motel.” _ The way he emphasized the last two words, the place of his business, Clara felt that pit of fear return sharply and coldly. “And I don’t think what money you currently hold would begin to pay for the act you did all those years ago.” There was a sneer in the man’s words. The spider they stole…!

Clara felt breathless and frozen. Nearly five years ago, in fact. Even with the wig and the fake ears, surely it wasn’t hard for him to recognize her with his clear, sharp eyes and the makeup she had worn to look that much younger. “Fuck.” Her heart began to race again. She pushed herself up against the passenger door as much as she could, as if to shrink away from him. “Let me out! Stop the car right now, let me out!” Much like a trapped animal, she thought.

“Be quiet!” He raised his voice just a sliver, but it thundered in that car, competing with the blood rushing in her ears. 

“Where are you taking me?” Clara tried the door handle but it was locked! There was no way to unlock it on her side. “Let me out, damn it! Let me out, you fucking animal!”

“I said be quiet!” His voice was sharper, louder than before. She started to beat on the glass. How the hell did this come back to bite her in the ass? How had he known to save her from Mad Dog? Did they work together? “Stop that at once!” She kept pulling at the door handle and hitting the glass. 

The car stopped abruptly at a stop light. Not having put her seatbelt on, Clara hit the dashboard with a groan. Before she could do much more, she felt a hand grab her upper arm. She gasped softly, feeling nails dig into the exposed flesh. “Cease this at once, you infernal little…” Before Katz could finish the name, Clara turned and punched him in the face. His hands went to his nose as a shout left him. Quickly, she reached across him, brushing against his chest, and hit the unlock button. With a click, she knew her exit was there. Clara turned and tried the door handle again -- success! It opened and she flung the door open. She ran out and kept running through alleys, streets, between buildings. She ran until her lungs burned and her legs felt as weak as straws. 

It was only when she felt safe did she stop running. It was only when she began to wonder where she was did she realize something. It was when she wanted to call Francis that she realized her purse, her phone included, had been left in Katz’ car.

“Fucking hell.” 


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t often that Clara had to hide out to lick her wounds, but the next three days were definitely a time there. It was one thing to have been outed at Mad Dog’s -- she  _ really _ must have made an impression on Bunny as ‘Bess’ for the rabbit to have recognized her -- but it was a whole different level that Katz should have shown up on that same night, on that exact moment as he had. Was he following her? How did he know she’d be there? How did he recognize her? 

There were so many questions and so few answers. When she explained what happened to Francis the next morning - of which Francis had been beside himself with worry -- he couldn’t explain much in theory either. That night at three AM, when Clara hadn’t returned, Francis had called her cell, and had been uncomfortable when a man (Katz) had answered it. When she at last returned, he had all but become a puddle of relief. 

But Katz...Katz. Katz was just shy of five years ago, if memory served. The man himself must have an excellent memory since he had barely seen much of Francis or Clara, or so they thought. He had had several spiders, all the size of a Christmas present, and it made sense that he treasured them so. Had the pair intended to spend the night, who knows what would have happened. Instead, they had trapped one of the horrifying creatures, left, and sold it to someone for a few grand. But why did it take Katz five years to track them down, to track  _ her  _ down? It made no sense! 

Clara tried to reassure herself. The phone could, and would be, replaced. Mad Dog didn’t know anything beyond that she had taken money at that time and place, there was no way to be traced. Katz couldn’t find them -- how could he? They would just lay low for a while. And outside of some scratches on her arm, which would heal scarlessly, Clara was unharmed from it all. Plus, they still had some money from it. And...she never really liked that purse anyway.

On the third day, Francis said he was going to hit up a human city to get a few scores. Clara agreed and reminded him that she didn’t have a phone just yet. “I’ll pick one up for you -- let’s see, bright pink with rhinestones, right? The ones filled with candy?” He teased her.

She threw a small pillow from the couch at him, which he expertly dodged as she laughed. “Get it for yourself and risk some cavities, why don’t you?!” 

“Oh come on,” Francis smiled, his white, pearly teeth showing as he picked up the pillow, “I’ll bring us back a giant chocolate chocolate truffle cake, something worth risking the dental bill.” He plopped the pillow on the couch before sitting on the other side, a seat from her. 

“Mm,” she mused, “tha  _ does  _ sound existique. Fine, deal. And I’ll be sure to make a steak dinner when you come back. Which will be…?” They didn’t have a landline and not having a cell phone made it all the more keenly relevant and made her aware that they were nearly in the middle of Nowhere. Sure she had a small little car, but even then, that was at least a thirty mile drive to something -- seven if she needed Courage. 

Francis’ hazel gaze softened with sympathy. “About two days. You could always join me.” He suggested with great hope. He wasn’t too keen on leaving her alone here for more than a few hours. It was unlikely that anyone should bother her here, but still, it was supposed to be unlikely that Katz would ever see them again. So much for that.

Clara grimaced and put her head on her hand on the edge of the couch. “I think I’d more of a hindrance than an asset right now.” She made a face, nose scrunched. “I just...still feel pretty fucked up. All of that...twice in a row, I could have been…” Been what? She shuddered to name it, any of it.

Francis reached out and placed his hand on her arm, squeezing in reassurance. “I know. I understand.” He loathed to think of the ‘what if’ as well, his blood boiling and his stomach churning with fear. “It’s okay if you sit it out. Rest and recover...and clean and cook.” He barely pulled his arm away in time to avoid being smacked, laughing softly. “Seriously...hey, why don’t I have Courage come spend the night? At least for one night?”

Clara thought about this for a moment. “Ya know what? Sure. Call him up and ask if he’d come over. I can pick him up. We’ll stay up watching old movies.” 

“Does the ‘Gremlins’ count?” Francis asked as he went about texting the purple dog.

She made a soft noise. “Mm. No, he’d be too scared for that. We’ll do other stuff -- Sound of Music, Moulin Rouge, and the like.”

“All musicals night?” 

“Boy can sing like a choir child, why not?!” She laughed as Francis’ phone buzzed. “What’s he say?”

“He said yes! I’ll tell him you’ll pick him up in an hour. Sound good?” He asked as he texted away.

Clara nodded and smiled. “Good, yeah.” Once Francis had finished, she reached out and touched his hand. “Thanks Francis. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

The man smiled softly and squeezed her hand. “Ah, probably just...you know...thrive. Make millions. Become some poor sap’s beautiful, young wife and take him for all he’s worth. Take over the world with a laser beam, the usual.” He found it a bit hard to breathe for a moment.

A laugh fell from her lips. “Hardly!” She protested, shaking her head. “No...no, I don’t know what I'd be doing but it wouldn’t be anything of value like that. Nice thought though.” She stood. “Well, let me get dressed so I can take off the same time you do. Two days.” 

“Two days.” Francis echoed, but there was a hint of something hollow in the depth of his heart when he did.

~

The sleepover had been a great hit. Honestly, Clara forgot how fun they could be...mostly because she had never really had them. After she picked up Courage, they stopped by a store in Nowhere to pick up junk food -- popcorn, candy, pretzels, apples, sodas, beer, and a frozen pizza. They also picked up some cheap movies to watch and a couple board games, though those weren’t quite as fun given that they were things like checkers. 

The night went quick and before they knew it, stomachaches and all, it was three in the morning. Courage had dozed off on the couch and Clara let him. She turned off the movie, tidied up as much as she could, and placed a blanket over Courage. Francis had his room and bed, Clara had hers upstairs, but oddly enough there was no real guest room. The couch was plenty comfy though so she hoped Courage wouldn’t mind. He snuggled against the blanket once she placed it on him.

As she turned off the light on the table next to the couch, she smiled. The purple haired lad was sweet and kind, definitely a one-of-sort persons. Now dark, the moonlight peaking through the windows, Clara felt suddenly wide awake. Her typical bedtime was four or so in the morning so it wasn’t unusual, but perhaps it was the sugar that kept her wired. Oh to sleep so peacefully as Courage, she envied him.

“Night, pup.” She reached out and lightly scratched his ears, enjoying the velvety softness. He shifted and murmured something in his sleep. She started her way up the stairs, guided by memory and moonlight, when she felt the sudden urge to look outside. 

She wished she hadn’t.

Out there in the distance, several dozen yards away or so, she saw something. It wasn’t obvious at first and, truth be told, if the moon hadn’t been nearly full, she would have missed it. It was a car. She tensed and stepped beside the window, behind the curtain. It was a car. It had to be. It certainly wasn’t a rock as they don’t roll around like tumbleweed. She peeked against and wondered who it could be...and why. On top of that, could they see her? Could they be using binoculars? And if so...how long had they been watching? 

She felt sick suddenly and knew all the junk food would return if she wasn’t careful. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. When she looked again...the car was gone! She blinked and looked all around. For the next few minutes, as she locked the doors and windows around the house, she also looked around to try and see the damn car. But...nothing.

Was she seeing things? Maybe she was just...tired. Maybe it was the...the...the sugar, the sodas, yes. Maybe it was the junk food. Or maybe they hadn’t cooked the pizza all the way and she was seeing things, yes, that could be it. Because if it were a car, which it wasn’t, who would be in it? Mad Dog had no idea where she lived and neither did...neither did…

Could Katz have pulled something from her phone? 

Clara shuddered and went to the kitchen. She pulled out a large knife, the butcher knife, and made her way upstairs. A quick glance out of those windows also proved, from a further distance, and there was no one anywhere around. She tried to keep an eye out, but as the night went on, her eye lids grew heavy. Before too long, she had fallen asleep on the bay window, knife at her side, looking for something that wasn’t, couldn’t have ever been there.

~

The smell of bacon, maple syrup, and coffee woke her. Clara blinked and winced as she moved her neck. “Ah, fuck.” She cursed as she massaged the kinks out. Sleeping like that hadn’t been pleasant, up against a window. She saw the knife at her side and looked out the window, wincing at the bright light. No...nothing, yet again. 

Clara made her way downstairs, pausing only to wash her face and her teeth. She thought it wise and discrete, for now, to leave the knife in her room. Better to not walk in with it...poor Courage would have a heart attack.

When she made it to the kitchen, she spoke. “Morning Courage.” She greeted, surprised to see the lavender-haired young man flipping pancakes in the air. “How long have I been out?”

Courage caught the latest pancake in the pan before turning to look at the blond woman. “Good morning, Clara.” He tossed the pancake to the plate and turned off the oven. “It’s eleven...we both slept in a bit.” He gave a sheepish smile. 

“Hell, the way I live, that’s a normal sleep schedule.” She went over to pull the milk and sugar for their coffee. “Did you sleep okay?” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he had seen or heard anything...off last night, but she resisted.

Courage placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes before her. The butter and syrup were off to the side as he gestured. “Yeah, like a rock.” The young man nodded. “I think your couch is actually comfier than my bed.” 

Clara snorted softly as she slathered a bit of butter over both pancakes. “Yeah? That’s good, I think. Do you wanna stay another night?” It was half a joke, but she was also mostly serious. After that car, she was uneasy. 

Courage poured syrup over his pancakes and then paused to add milk, nearly a fourth of a cup, to coffee. There was a joke in there somewhere, but Clara didn’t have the energy to say it. “I’d love to, but I have to meet with my publishing agent tomorrow.” He offered a genuine sympathetic look. “Meaning I gotta get to bed at a reasonable time...and finish my rough draft.”

Clara paused, accidentally pouring too much syrup and having it fall to her eggs, as she looked at him in surprise. “Wait, you aren’t even done with your first draft and you spent the night?! Courage!”

“I knoooow!” He tugged at his ears a bit. “But it’s fine, really! It’ll get done for sure. I know what I want to say, I just have to write it. Anyway, it’s just a rough draft. No big deal!” He went to sit at the table now that everything was prepared. Clara followed him. He cut into his pancakes.

“I guess so...but still. I had no idea you were so...living dangerously-like.” She teased him as she bit into a strip of bacon. Courage paused and their eyes met. “What? What’s  _ that  _ look?” He started to shovel bits of pancake into his mouth and made a gesture, as if he couldn’t talk now. “Don’t make me start playing Charades because I will.”

Courage’s shoulders shook which barely restrained laughter. He chewed and swallowed, pausing to take a large gulp of his mostly-milk-coffee before he spoke. “I mean, I didn’t mind because Francis said you didn’t want to be alone for a bit. Something about a...I mean, he didn’t say it, and you don’t have to talk about it unless you want to, but a near...you were almost attacked.” His ears flattened at the last word.

Clara paused, utensils in the air. Attacked? Well, yes, yes she supposed she was nearly attacked -- kidnapped almost too. But...she shifted in her chair. It felt...uncomfortable that Courage should know that. It was almost too close to the truth, but then again, perhaps that why Francis had told him. It guaranteed that Courage would come over, that he would be attentive, but he was too shy to ask for more details. It was a surprise to Clara, no acting required, but that would be the point. It was as close to their real life as Courage would get.

“Ah, yeah...no, not much to say. I was walking alone down the street at night in the city - I know, dumb -- and some guys tried to attack me. I ran and got away, no big deal.” She shrugged as she told that lie, cutting her pancakes and taking a bite. “Thanks for staying though,” she meant it, “it made the day more comfortable.” The night not so much because of the car, but still. Or perhaps it had, given that she had fallen asleep even fitfully. “And thanks for breakfast.” She smiled wide. “Tasty.” 

The dog’s ears were so expressive in his shock, his fear, and his relief. He was as easy to read as an open book. “I’m so glad you’re safe!” He nearly howled, the knife and fork left on the plate. “If you need me, I can try to work something out for another night.” He started to say, about to ramble off on some plans.

Clara shook her head and reached out, covering his mouth with her free hand. “No, no, no, no. It’s okay, really! One night did me lots of good...but sooner or later I gotta sleep alone to be okay with everything again. Anyway, we’re out in the nearly-middle of Nowhere...who even knows I’m out here? Seriously, it’s fine. You are an amazing friend, pup.” She smiled and sat back.

Courage had a bit of pink covering his cheeks, but he beamed proudly. “Alright...well, if you’d like, I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon for lunch? Then Francis should be back by dinner.”

“Absolutely.” She agreed and dug back into breakfast.

How did Clara get so lucky to have a neighbor like Courage?

~

Much to Clara’s relief, there was no car that second night. She slept mostly well, though she did wake up a few times. It was an otherwise normal day, peppered with lunch from Courage and a copy of his first draft to review for pleasure and feedback. Close to six, she started to slowly cook the steaks, potatoes, and asparagus. She pulled out a bottle of red wine and even got some candles to be cheeky. Francis was due back soon, hopefully in the next hour. 

But seven rolled around and he didn’t show. She kept dinner in the oven to keep it warm, but when eight, nine, ten, and eleven went by, she knew it was a wasted meal. She ate hers at the least and tried not to panic. Where was he? Had he gotten pulled over? Caught? She shuddered at the thought. But where was he? She wished she had a phone so she could call him.

By midnight, she couldn’t help herself. The only way she could get to a phone was to either wake up the Bagge family -- which would raise some questions, especially if Francis  _ had  _ gotten caught -- or go into the animal city (yes, the one she had sworn to lay low from) for a pay phone. She paced and paced, but nothing. By one o’clock, she knew she had to risk it. Collecting some change, she drove into the animal city and stopped at the first pay phone. A quick look around showed that she was alone. 

She got into the phone booth, inserted the coins, and dialed Francis’ number. She was expecting him to answer after the second ring and apologize so profusely, to say that he was finishing up a big scheme, to say that he had gotten laid and he forgot about dinner, to say...well, anything. Really, Clara was at a point at 1:30 in the morning where she wasn’t picky. 

So when the phone rang five times and went to voicemail, her stomach dropped. She hung up, waited a moment, then called again. Maybe...maybe he had picked up some woman and they were asleep...or busy. Surely he’d answer now. He had to.

Except...he didn’t. 

Instead of five rings and voicemail, it rang twice...and it sounded like someone picked up, but hung up immediately. Clara felt that unease grow up her spine. She looked around her just to be sure she was, in fact, alone, and called one more time. Third time and whatnot. This time, however, it went straight to voicemail.

She hung up the phone, a few pennies coming out as her change. She left them there. She stared at the phone for a minute longer before moving. Maybe...he was home. Except this time, it sounded more like a prayer than an assumption. The drive back was the longest she ever took. There was no need, or rather she didn’t have patience, for taking a few different routes to throw off any tails, because she didn’t see anyone. Once she got home, she saw she was the only one there and the lights were all off, just as she had left them. 

So if Francis wasn’t home...where was he?


	5. Chapter 5

Clara managed only to get a few twenty minute cat-naps. By eight in the morning, she drove over to the Bagge’s home. “Well good morning!” Muriel said as she answered the door. “How are you, dearie? My, you look a bit tired. Are you feeling alright?” 

Clara blinked and had to process what she was asking. It was too early for these sorts of questions. “Morning Muriel. Er, yeah, maybe. I mean, can I use your phone? Francis hasn’t come home and…” She still wasn’t sure what to make of that phone booth debacle. 

“Of course, of course, come on in. I’ll make you a pot of some strong tea. Courage!” Muriel called upstairs to the writer as Clara made a beeline for the phone. “Courage, come down here please!” 

By the time the lavender-haired dog in pajamas came down, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Clara was on the phone. Francis’ phone went straight to voicemail once, twice, five times. She was getting frustrated. What now?

“Hey,” Courage greeted her softly as he came to sit on the couch next to her. He was still in his pajamas, but he had a cup of tea with him. He held it out for her to take. “What’s going on? Muriel said Francis didn’t come home?”

Clara rubbed her temples before nodding and taking the tea. “No...and his phone is off. I’m not sure what to do.” And it was true, she wasn’t. Well, not in the way they thought. If she called hospitals or police stations, who knew what trouble she might accidentally cause for Francis. What if he got caught and her calling would damn him, or her, somehow? But what if he was hurt and he needed her? Clara ran a hand over her face before drinking the tea. Strong, sweet...good, she needed it today.

Courage’s ears were flattened and he whined with worry. “I can help you call hospitals. I think the Computer can provide the numbers for all the nearby ones.” He offered with hope.

Of course he wouldn’t mention anything about a police station. To their Nowhere neighbors, Francis and Clara were the most average of folk. Clara nodded. “Okay, yeah.” What else could she do? “And in between, I’ll call his phone.” Maybe he just forgot to charge it. Except...none of this had happened before, it was all out of his normal behavior. 

“I’m sure he’s okay.” Courage said. When Clara didn’t remark, he reached out and took her head. “Hey, I’m sure he’s okay. You’ll be okay.” It sounded like a mix of a prayer and a statement. 

“Thanks pup.” She squeezed his hand and watched him walk up to the computer. She stayed seated on the green couch was, decidedly,not as comfortable as her own. That was fine though for what use did she have of sleeping? Ten minutes later, and some loud noises later, Courage came down with a page full of numbers. He poured Clara another cup of tea as she called the first hospital. She gave them a description of Francis and asked if there was anyone like that there, either upstairs or downstairs in the morgue. 

For better and worse, they said no.

She called the second one. Third cup of tea. Nothing. She called his phone -- voicemail. She called a third hospital, nothing. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. She then called his phone once more, expecting nothing but the voicemail. So when it rang, she felt her breath catch. “Courage!” She whispered, “It’s ringing! His phone!”

Courage, who had stayed right next to Clara loyally through the past hour, sat up straighter. His ears perked up and gave a little ‘yay!’. She could see that he had crossed his fingers on one hand as she held the other in her own. By the fourth ring, there was a click. Clara hesitated. “Hello?” she spoke. 

“Hello?” It was a man’s voice, but it wasn’t Francis’. Clara’s flesh prickled. “Who is this?”

“Who is this?” If Clara’s voice was sharper than normal, it was only because she was scared now.

The voice seemed calm and collected though, unbothered by her own. “This is Officer Jared Mantle.”

Clara felt like she was going to be sick, and was glad that she hadn’t eaten anything. She must have gone green because Courage placed his hand on her back. “I’m calling about,” please, she prayed quietly, let Francis have used his real name wherever he was, at least his first name, so she didn’t blow his cover, “Francis. I’m his friend and…”

“Ma’am,” the officer started, and a part of Clara knew what he was going to say, but didn’t want to hear it, “I’m sorry to inform you, but Mr. Francis Dillard died last night. Suspected homicide.” Blood rushed through her ears, drained from her face. Clara felt woozy but no one words, be it from the officer or from Courage, registered in her mind. She dropped the phone and everything started to go black. She passed out with the words ringing in her ear.

Francis...he was  _ murdered _ .

~

Ice. Cold. Air. 

That was all Clara could feel as she opened her eyes. Someone was fanning her. There were ice packs on her. She was shivering now.  _ What happened? What’s going on?  _ She wanted to speak, but her lips wouldn’t move and her voice wouldn’t work. She took a deep breath and was able to move again, to sit up.

“Careful,” a familiar voice warned her as a hand lightly placed itself on her shoulder, keeping her from getting up, “or you’ll pass out again.”

“Courage?” The name sounded garbled in Clara’s mouth.

“Here, drink some of this.” He held a glass of water up and, carefully sitting up just so, Clara took a few sips. 

It took another couple minutes, but Clara was able to sit up without getting sick again. She shifted and leaned against Courage, who sat next to her. Muriel sat on a dining room chair that she had brought over across from them. “Francis...he’s…” Reality started to crash down on Clara again. 

Courage put his arm around her and Muriel, tears streaming down her face, reached over to hold her hand. “We know dear,” Muriel managed to say between a hiccup or two, “the officer told us when we took the phone. I’m so, so sorry for your loss, my dear.”

Clara’s lips trembled, her eyes burned with the sudden rush of water, and her breathing hitched. Courage hugged her tighter and howled softly with his own sorrow. Within moments, they were all a sobbing mess, even Eustace joined. Clara covered her face with her hands and felt the harsh sobs wrack through her body. Francis...Francis had been killed. The man she had known since she was eight, the man who she had survived the streets with and gone on countless adventures with -- he was  _ gone _ . Her partner in crime and her best friend would never come back. She’d never hear his voice, his laughter, or see his smile ever again. They would never again dance and spin around the living room in victory. 

After some time had passed, Clara felt as if every ounce of liquid had drained from her through her tears. Her head throbbed, her heart felt shattered, her eyes ached, and all she wanted to do was slip into oblivion and just  _ not think  _ anymore. She must have fallen asleep against Courage for the next time she opened her heavy-lidded eyes, it was dark outside and Courage was snoring softly. Muriel and Eustace must have gone to the kitchen or outside. 

Clara shifted, her neck protesting from the odd angle she had fallen asleep in. She grimaced and must have made a nose for the lavender-haired dog started to shift as well. He rubbed at his eyes and looked down at her as she rubbed her neck. “Clara?” Courage’s voice sounded like a mixture of a yawn and a whine. He shook his head. They both must have fallen asleep hard for when he moved his arm, which had been around her all this time, he made a face and waved his arm a bit.

Not trusting her voice entirely, she made a ‘mm’ noise and looked around once her neck felt better. She flinched at the ‘click’ sound of Courage turning the lamp on near them. Where had the Bagges gone? The more she looked around, the less she...felt. It surprised her. It alarmed her. The numbness was thick and growing only thicker, like a cattail plant that had been broken open. It felt like it could crush her, and Clara wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t mind it.

“I’ll make you some tea,” offered the young man. She nodded and followed him like a lost child into the kitchen, not wanting to be alone. She watched without interest as Courage got the kettle, filled it with water, and set it on the stove before turning it on. He looked through Muriel’s collection of tea, no doubt trying to reason which would help with grief -- as if it were so simple. In the end, he chose a chamomile valerian mix. Clara couldn’t help but grin a little -- yes, sedation was best for now.

They were quiet, the two, both lost in their thoughts. It wouldn’t dawn on Clara entirely just then, but Courage had lost a friend as well. So did Eustace and Muriel. They had all lost a friend to violent ends. And Clara wasn’t sure how to process or feel about that last bit. It was one thing when someone died from an accident or illness...but from malicious intent? She swallowed hard and shook her head. Now wasn’t the time. Not now. Not in the Bagge house. She didn’t trust herself.

The kettle started to whistle, prompting Courage to get up and complete the tea ritual. It was calming to watch him do it, to pour the hot water into the tea pot with the strainer full of sedation herbs. After a few minutes, he then poured them both a cup of the delightful drink before bringing the cups and their saucers over to the table where Clara sat.

“Thanks.” She murmured, wrapping her hands around the cup, feeling the heat radiate. The dog nodded and blew on his. Clara just sipped and if she felt her tongue get burned, she didn’t care. It was clouded over by that numbness. 

There were no words to say. There was nothing to make it ‘better’. Clara was emotionally short-circuited and Courage seemed to pick up on that. That was why just sitting here with tea with her was the best, and only, thing he could do, in silence. To exist with her, to exist without demand or pull or any of that ‘he’s in a better place’ bullshit or, fuck forbid, ‘everything happens for a reason’, that was all Courage could do...and Clara cherished him all the more for it.

Some time passed before they heard the truck outside. Cups empty, the pair got up to walk over to the living room. Muriel and Eustace walked in from outside, a box in Muriel’s hands. Clara tensed, already knowing what it was. “We went into the city to get Francis’ stuff.” She explained in the darling way she did, soft and sympathetic and with a bit of scratchiness that showed she had been in tears recently too. “I’ll just set it here, dearie.” She placed it on the couch gently, as if it were a living creature.

Clara stared at the box. It was a file box, a lid that had been written on. It was used, something they pulled from storage of police files to fill up with whatever had been with him, on his person or in the car. If Muriel was speaking more, Clara couldn’t hear it. She was staring at that box, unable to process that this was what was left of her Francis, not able to think that his body was cold, gray, and decomposing in some morgue somewhere. She must have started to hyperventilate -- which explained the ache in her chest -- because the scent of ink, paper, and something distinctly lavender and of ‘joy’ wrapped around her, as did the arms of the owner of that scent. Courage hugged her tight and seemed unwilling to let go. Her breathing calmed down, but her eyes, still dry from crying out all the tears before, ached sharply.

At last, she was brought back to the moment and to her senses, feeling Courage’s warmth and hearing him softly murmur words of comfort. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight, not wanting to let go of the anchor he had become for her. There would be no question of Clara spending the night tonight.

~

The next few days were a painful haze to Clara. By the grace of her friends, she was fed, hydrated, and took care of her basic needs. It wasn’t enough, but it was enough as a baseline to keep her from withering away. They had to go into the city -- of which Clara hadn’t fully comprehended  _ which  _ city it was, but assumed it was the human one Francis had said he’d be going to -- and pick up his body. They had to make arrangements. A coffin was picked out and Clara declared she would bury him under the bit of grass that managed to grown in the near-middle of Nowhere. There was no argument to be had over this decision.

The details of the murder had been explained and, honestly, how could Clara be unaware of them, as she had pulled the coroner’s sheet halfway down Francis to his waist, beyond the level they had uncovered him at first. Stabbed. He was stabbed, beaten, bruised, and cut up. It didn’t look like a peaceful, easy death. It was the exact opposite. She demanded to see the notes of the autopsy once he was done. She wanted details. She needed details. They did nothing for her but haunt her now, but later, one day, she would need to make use of these details to get revenge.

There were no suspects. Even a week later, there were none. 

Between the first week and the second, Clara had managed to make her hands blister raw. She did this by insisting she dig up the ground by herself. The rock hard ground, barely softened by a watering that Courage tried to do before, had been a challenge. The shovel, of which Clara used without gloves, was harsh to her. Still, she dug a six foot rectangle and cherished the pain that it gave her hands for days after, as if it were a penance. A penance to what? An unreasonable amount of guilt.

With the help of Courage and Eustace, they managed to get Francs’ coffin into the ground. Muriel spoke some words, Courage did too, but Clara remained mute. She insisted in burying him, but she didn’t protest when Courage helped as well with his hands since there was just one shovel. Courage stayed a little bit later than the other two, who then picked him up late into the night. 

Now...now that Francis was home, now that the paperwork had been complete, now it was time to be alone.

She still had no phone, no landline, and Francis’ phone was now retired in the box of his things, placed in his room. His room had been untouched. Clara left it open, but she didn’t go into it. Sometimes she’d sit on her bed in her room and look across the hall, but often she would close her door...or just leave. Being upstairs was too painful.

But then, where wasn’t there painful memories? The living room, where they danced and laughed and watched television? The kitchen, where they cooked, broke bread from their successes, and cleaned together? There wasn’t a place in the house that didn’t make Clara’s heart throb and amplify through the thick numb cloud of grief. 

She couldn’t say how many days it had been, but she found herself outside a lot more. At first, she would sit on the porch and just look out over to the grassy patch that wasn’t as grassy, the one that held Francis. She would just...stare. Occasionally she remembered to drink or eat something, but it wasn’t enough. She’d fall asleep outside until she’d wake in the cold desert night. She’d just move into the living room and fall back asleep, an ache in her heart. The doors weren’t locked, not anymore. What did it matter if someone came in and murdered her too? 

How could she manage schemes, scams, and thievery without her partner in crime? What was the point in life then? There was no pleasure, not anymore. Not in food, not in scams, not in...not in life. Soon she knew she wouldn’t be able to make ends meet, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care anymore. Not the house, not her hygiene, not her health, not her life...nothing.

It was one day that was particularly hot even for the spring that something happened. Clara was laying out on the grass next to the mound of dirt, next to Francis. She was on her side, staring at the pile of dirt. There was no marker. Not yet. Would there be? She had no idea. The sun, she knew logically, was baking her...but she didn’t care. She didn’t feel it. All she felt was the void, the cold, empty ache that seemed to be growing bigger in her heart. So if she succumbed to dehydration or burned alive, so be it.

Clara started to hallucinate. If not that, then she must have been asleep and dreaming. Francis was back and he was sitting across from her on the other side of the mound. He was shaking his head and looking at her with sympathy, mouthing something. She tried to open her eyes wider, but the sun was just so bright. She closed them instead, whispering, “Francis...I’m so tired of being...so tired.”

_ Splash! _

“AH!” A shout was ripped from Clara’s throat after a large sum of water splashed all over her. Clara sat up, heart racing and water dripping off of her. She rubbed her eyes, cursing as she tried to adjust to the bright sun. When she opened her blue eyes and looked up at the general direction of where the water came from, she wished she hadn’t. Her throat went dry and her heart skipped a beat. 

Katz stood before her. He wore a deep shade of purple pants and a shirt with a red vest, his hair slicked back, his ears twitching as his tail did. There was an empty water bottle at his feet. If it weren’t for the water dripping off of her hair and into her eyes, she would have sworn that there was a look of amusement in his gaze as he stared down the end of his nose at her.

He shifted in his stance and that was enough for her. Despite the neglect she had done to herself, despite not having eaten a full meal in days or even drank half as much water as she should have, despite being apathetic and ready for death, adrenaline kicked in. Clara turned and planted her hands on the now damp ground, ready to push herself up and run like hell. Where? She hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she knew she had to get  _ away  _ from Katz.

Before she could run, however, just as she stood, a hand grabbed her by the back of her shirt. Katz pulled her back without trouble as she had lost weight from the past couple weeks. Along with weight, she had also lost a lot of energy and strength from her self-neglectful habits. He spun her around and gripped her by her shoulders. “Get off!” She shouted while she tried to kick at him. 

Katz shook her hard and easily sidestepped the kicks. He said nothing as she tried to break free. It was only when she had tired herself out did he do something. “Hm.” He looked her up and down, his grip on her arms still tight. “So this is what you look like without your disguise. How disappointing.” 

Clara sneered and wished she could spit at him. Unfortunately, that, too, was not possible given her self-neglect. “Fuck you.” 

The red haired man gave her another once-over. “I’ll pass.”

Clara tried to get her arm free but gave up after a moment, worn out. “How did you find me? If you want to kill me, just do it already!” She felt torn between a sense of fear and of anger, both of which were exhausting. She felt herself start to deflate. Her legs were trembling, no doubt from a mix of exhaustion and fear, and she wondered if she’d be standing still if Katz wasn’t holding her so tight. 

Katz’ sharp, vivid yellow eyes bore into hers. It took a long moment, one of which she blinked a few times due to the bright sun, before Katz’ gaze slowly moved to the mound of dirt, and to where Clara had been lying. “I came to get revenge for my precious spider so many years ago...but I see someone beat me to it with your partner.” The slow, careful enunciation of the words only made it hurt all the worse.

Clara’s breath caught and she felt a hurt-fueled rage consume her. “You goddamn son of a whore!” She screeched as she swiped at him. Her nails caught his arm which made him loosen his grip ever so slightly. She took advantage of this and pulled her arm free, swinging at the man’s face -- it was only then, as an afterthought, that she realized his broken nose had healed quite nicely. She tackled him onto the ground, knocking him off balance, and started to wail on him without seeing or feeling anything, without any thought. Tears blurred her vision and her throat burned as she shouted things she wasn’t aware of.

The wild attack only lasted a mere dozen seconds before Katz managed to flip them around. He pinned her wrists above her head and sat on her so she couldn’t kick at him. He looked no worse than before, but certainly seemed agitated. It was only when Clara calmed down, tears dry and breathing steady, did he speak. “Here is what is going to happen, dear girl,” his voice was low, steady, and edged with menace, “I’m going to stand up and you’re going to do the same. I will  _ escort  _ you into your house, where you will sit down and say  _ nothing _ . Do you understand?” The last three words were slow and taunt.

Her chest burned from her outburst. She hadn’t used her voice so much the past few days. Clara closed her eyes tightly, feeling sick and weak and loathing every moment. Slowly she shook her head, refusing to look at the man. “Just kill me...be done with it.” It sounded like a prayer, a plea, rather than a command.

For a moment, Katz did nothing. By the time Clara opened her eyes, he spoke, “As you wish it.” Suddenly his hands were wrapped around her neck. Her eyes widened. It took little time for her instincts to kick in, for the will to live to win out. She grabbed his arms and squeezed, trying to free herself before she pulled at his fingers. It was only when her vision started to fade that he released her. Clara took large gulps of air, coughing in between as she tried to twist away from under him. He didn’t budge though. “I thought not.” He seemed annoyed as if he were tasked with dealing with a bug. “Do you understand my instructions, girl?”

Clara looked up at him once she caught her breath and glared with hate. Her throat was on fire so she could only manage to nod. Satisfied, he got away from her, stood, and pulled her up by her arm. Still holding tight, he led her back into her house. He seemed to know his way around well enough. He shut the door behind him and placed Clara on the couch. “Don’t. Move.” He ordered with a tone cold enough to make her shiver.

She watched him, curiously obedient, enter the kitchen. She heard the sink turn on for a few moments. There was movement, clattering of items. What was he doing? Clara looked around the living room, taking the moment to actually, really  _ look _ . And damn, everything was filthy. There was a lawyer of dust, clothes were dirty and everywhere, she knew there was food rotten and dishes unwashed. Clara wondered seriously how many days had passed since the whole ordeal started.

She must have zoned out for longer than she expected because when she came back to the moment, Katz had entered with two cups of tea with saucers. He placed one on the stand next to her. She tensed and leaned away from him as he took a seat on the loveseat nearby. The cat hardly blinked as he took a long, silent sip, studying her. What was he thinking? Did she dare trust the cup he made for her? But why would he? Ah, she thought, he wanted to prolong her torture.

_ Clink _ . “Drink.” Katz ordered as he set his half-empty cup down on the saucer. 

Clara wanted to speak, but her throat, of which she was certain would bruise overnight, hurt. Reluctantly, she picked up the saucer and glanced at it. Simple green tea, visible through in the right light. She took a tentative sip. Nothing tasted off about it. She drank more and grimaced when she tried to clear her throat. 

So it went on between the two, silently drinking and studying each other. The cool air inside made her distinctly aware of how damp her hair and clothes were -- and how dirty they were. Not that she gave a damn about her appearance even before Katz. Not at all. 

After some time had passed, she set the cup aside. There were no ill side effects. Perhaps the tea had been safe. “Why…” She flinched, her throat feeling raw.

_ Clink _ . “I told you to be quiet.” Katz said matter-of-factly. At her glare, he smirked. “Why am I here, you ask?” She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. “I was telling the truth. I am here to extract vengeance for the theft of my lovely five years ago.” 

Clara tried to keep her breathing steady, calm. “How so?” Her voice croaked. “Are you going to torture me?” There was a shiver to her tone and she loathed herself for it. But even if so, Courage would come...which would make things so, so much worse.

Katz gave a sharp exhale like a scoff. “Torture you? No, no, no, dear girl...judging by your...haggard, filthy, and malnourished appearance, you’ve done that to yourself plenty.” He looked satisfied to see her flinch. “I found my lovely once you and your...partner sold her. It cost me a pretty penny, but I got her back.”

“You want money?” Clara spat out hatefully. Was this what it was all about? She just wanted to be left alone in her sorrow. “Fine, how much? I’ll get you the money.” 

Katz didn’t respond right away. He leaned back in the chair and studied her again in all her displeasure. “No.” The word confused Clara. “What I want, we will get into another time.” Before she could protest, he held up a hand. Surprisingly, it worked. “For now...I want you to recover. As a human, you’re not terribly pleasant to look at to begin with, but looking like a homeless person only makes it that much worse.” She held up her middle finger at him. To her surprise, Katz smirked. “You still have spirit in you, girl. That much was made obvious outside or else you would have allowed me to kill you and place you next to your...partner. You think you want to die, you think you want to give up...but you don’t. But to get back to normal, you’ll need my help.”

“I don’t  _ want  _ your help.” She spat out, glaring now. 

“It wasn’t an offer.” Katz was unbothered by her venom. 

“And what if I refuse? What if I call the cops?” Bold words, they both knew, for a scammer. They both had their...side businesses and the mention of cops was a dangerous one for both of them. 

The man hardly seemed bothered though. He kept that smirk on his face and she didn’t like it. “You won’t. If you do, you will lose this house...and your precious partner yet again.”

Clara blinked, taken aback. “What? What are you talking about?” Confusion.

Now Katz just seemed to ooze self-satisfaction. “The house. When you and your boy bought the house, it was listed under Francis Dillard...and Winnie Dillard. You, my dear girl, are not on the deed to the house.”

Clara felt her blood turn to ice. What? Since when? Why? Why had Francis...Francis had dealt with the paperwork. It made it easier that way. He must have used her street name and his last name to protect her. If anything had gone belly-up, if she had been caught, if he had been caught...that had to be it. If she was caught, they couldn’t take the house away. But he hadn’t planned for this situation where he was  _ dead  _ and Clara...Clara was alive. They hadn’t planned for death, only ever capture.

She was shaking. She felt as if she had been plunged into snow. To lose the house, to go back to living on the street?  _ Alone _ ? To have to survive all alone, older now, wiser but now lacking a partner. To have to struggle and scrounge, to never know security again! She felt ill.

“Breathe, dear girl,” Katz commanded, his silky, smooth voice capturing her attention. And though she hated it, she did as he said. Slowly, surely but slowly, her heart rate returned to normal and her color was back. “There will be some simple rules. Follow them and you won’t have to pack your things. Disobey and...well. But I think soon you will see the benefit in doing as I say.” Clara said nothing, smartly, for the first time, but glared. “Good. Let us start with the most pressing of matters: bathing.” Clara’s face warmed with embarrassment. “The bit of water I doused you with was hardly sufficient to scrub the grime off of your hair. As you shower, I will prepare a real meal...as I doubt you’ve consumed more than a mouse these past few days.”

Clara didn’t get up immediately. She seemed to be debating something. What, she wasn’t sure. After a moment, she stood. Without a word, for she took pity on her own damaged throat, she made her way upstairs to take a much, much needed shower. As she passed Francis’ room, which was still closed, she wondered if Francis would have changed what he did back then if he knew what situation she was in currently.


	6. Chapter 6

Damn, Katz hadn’t been exaggerating. She looked  _ horrible  _ \-- not that she’d ever admit that to him. Her blonde hair, which was typically thick and lucious, was stringy and grimy. Her skin had dirt from more than just today on it. The bruising started to form around her neck and on her upper arms from where Katz had manhandled her. Her lips were cracked and her fingernails had dirt caked under them. When Clara took off her clothes, which definitely needed to be washed four or five days ago, she saw hints of her rib cage under her skin. How had she gotten so bad?

But her eyes...her blue eyes were the most alive thing. They were an electric blue, full of a storm of emotion that she could never release fully. It startled her to see them looking back at her when the rest of her seemed so...dull. Francis wouldn’t be pleased to see her like this. With that last bit of guilt, Clara started the hot water and got into the shower. Her legs, however, proved to still feel weak so she turned the shower into a bath and sat in the tub.

The water was almost hot enough to burn her, but that was what she needed. Once the water got midway up, she picked up the dry bar of soap and started to scrub at her skin. Every inch was scrubbed until she saw pink. She dumped a large amount of shampoo in her hand and attacked her hair and scalp, wincing under her own doing. She scrubbed her face and then, at long last, turned off the water. It was nearly at the edge of the tub.

Clara stayed like that, soaped up and sudded, for a few minutes. She could hear faint noise downstairs in the kitchen. Inhaling slowly, deeply, she leaned back and dipped herself under the water...and stayed. The only noise that filled her ears now was her own heartbeat, slow and steady.She could hear some whining from the pipes, the pipes that she didn’t own evidently, and the softest hint of a gurgle, suggesting a minor leak of the tub. She stared up through a film of suds, soap,and grime to the ceiling. And Clara simply...stayed under water.

It felt as if she could steal a moment of peace and freeze time like that. In this bath of water, Francis wasn’t dead, Katz hadn’t infiltrated her home, and she was secure, safe, and free. She was happy, content, and excited for what life brought to her in this moment under water. It was like a bubble that reality couldn’t burst…

Until her lungs burned. Clara shot out of the water with a gasp, the water splashing and sloshing over the edge and onto the floor. She ran a hand over her eyes and winced at the sting of them. A quick look around showed that she had watered the floor. Sighing, she pulled the plunge-stopper and grabbed a towel. So much for that…

By the time she had dried, dressed, and cleaned up her mess, it was dark outside. Clara didn’t want to go downstairs. She really, really didn’t. To have to face Katz again, to talk to him, to listen to his shit…? There were many questions she needed to ask still. How did he find her? Not just now, but before, at Mad Dog’s? What was his plan long-term? How safe was she really with him? A quick reflection reminded her that he had only attacked her when she started or provoked him. But that was just for now.

Clara waited at the top of the stairs, unsure of herself. She looked back at Francis’ closed door and hoped for strength before walking down to the kitchen. There at the table was Katz with what smelt to be a vegetable soup for himself and her. Clara titled her head and looked around, suspicious.

“I hid the rat poison already, come eat.” Katz’s words dripped in sarcasm. 

“If your cooking skills are anywhere near your charm…” Clara shot back as she sat down. Her stomach growled -- traitor. He nodded towards the bowl he made for her and she resisted. “Let me see you eat some first.” She slid the bowl over.

Katz gave a scoffing noise, but he seemed amused if that half-grin were any hint. “Fine.” He took his spoon and dipped it into the soup. He blew on it once before eating. After a moment, he said dryly, “Now that you’ve seen me survive such a harrowing ordeal, will you eat?”

Clara said nothing, but ate what was likely to be the first real meal of substance for the past week or so. And, though she wouldn’t tell him, it was pretty tasty. It wasn’t too heavy a meal on seasonings or content, given her state, but it was enough to restart her hunger without making her sick. The pair didn’t talk.

She did, however, wonder why he was...helping her get better, at least physically. It had to be something with money. Men like Katz, people like them, revolved their worlds around money. It wouldn’t be anything like prostitution...she thought. She would refuse. But it had to include her involvement. It just had to be.

Once they were done, Katz took the dishes and set them in the sink. Clara wasn’t sure what to do, and she felt a fool for that indecision. She stood and walked to the living room, but the damage was done already, Katz had seen her hesitate and wait for his cue. She’d have to break that quickly.

It wasn’t even a full day and she was beat from this man invading her home. How was she to put up with the future? Clara rubbed her eyes and looked at the time. It was late enough to sleep, she reasoned. Katz stepped out and looked at her. “Tomorrow we will clean this place.” He stated calmly.

Clara glared at him. She was too tired to tell him to choke on a feather duster, but damn was it tempting. “I’m going to bed.” She started up the stairs to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She would need all the rest she could get if she was going to deal with Katz tomorrow. She wasn’t the sort to sit under anyone’s thumb. If there was a way to turn the tables, she would find it. 

Just as Clara stepped out of the bathroom, she heard a door open to her left. Looking over, she gasped and snapped, “Don’t!” Katz had opened Francis’ bedroom. She all but sprinted and nearly tackled him, grabbing his arm to keep him from walking in any further. “Don’t! You can’t go in…” 

For his part, Katz didn’t fight back, but let her pull him a step away from the doorway. It would have been annoying to see him so calm when she herself became worked up, but she was too focused on other things. It didn’t take a genius to realize why he was forbidden to step in the room. “It is late, girl, and I require a bed. Either you sleep in this room or you can sleep on the couch.”

Clara blinked, processing the nerve the cat had. “Wait, what?! No,  _ you  _ will sleep on the couch and I’ll sleep in my bed. No one sleeps in his bed.” Her tone was stern at the end.

Katz shifted and shook her hand off his arm, crossing his across his chest. “I will not debase myself to sleep on a couch.”

“Well you sure as hell can’t sleep in his bed and I’ll be in mine, so that leaves just one option,” Clara smiled sweetly, “you can sleep on the  _ floor _ .” She shut Francis’ bedroom and started to her own. 

However, it was Katz's turn to stop her in her tracks, not with touch, but his words. “Then we will be sleeping together if you insist. Neither of us will be using his bed nor the couch, so that, logically, leaves one option that is reasonable.”

Clara spun around and felt her face warm. “You vile, disgusting cat!” There was no room in her queen size bed for him.

And much to her surprise, Katz actually  _ reacted _ . Pink filled his cheeks and he seemed startled. “No, no, that isn’t at all what I meant!” He insisted with a hint of quickness. “You insolent fool. Nothing would occur...after all,” he seemed to regain some composure by sneering, “you’re a  _ human _ . It would seem though that the couch is not good enough for either of us, as is the floor, and one bed is off-limits. The only reasonable bed left is big enough for the pair of us -- to  _ sleep _ .” He emphasized.

Clara noted that he seemed to at least respect Francis’ space, and her wishes in that regard. Why couldn’t he respect the rest of her wishes and just leave? “Sleeping arrangements seem to be  _ your  _ problem, as you invited yourself into my life. Whether it be in your car, the roof, the floor, or in the trash, I don’t actually care. All I know is that I sleep alone and will keep sleeping alone.” 

“Have you forgotten the deed to the house?”

“Have  _ you  _ never learned what  _ consent  _ is?” Clara was getting tired of this, as was Katz.

The pair stared each other down to the best of their ability. Finally Katz scoffed and walked past her. He entered her room without pause, even when she snapped at him, and picked the side closest to the window. “I will be sleeping in a bed. It is up to you to decide if you will also be sleeping in this bed...or in your late partner’s.”

Clara’s throat felt thick with rage. She needed rest to put up with  _ this  _ for the next few days at minimum though. Francis’ bed was out of the question, as was the couch and the floor. Sure, she had fallen asleep all around the house, inside and out, and even on the couch during her uninterrupted grieving period, but those hadn’t been peaceful, full sleeps. And more so, this was  _ her  _ bed, not his. There was a matter of property and dominance.

“Then sleep with one eye open, cat,” she said with disdain. It was a threat and that was all she could do for now. Katz only smirked and got under the blankets.

~

If Clara thought she had been in a waking nightmare with Francis dying, she wasn’t sure what to call this living situation with Katz. For the next few days, they fell into something of a routine. Katz cooked all their meals, of which Clara ate regularly more and more as she could, they would clean, and they would sleep. In between, it was a bunch of nothing. He would read a book, a newspaper, or write. Clara had taken to playing the radio just for background noise. His very existence prompted her to keep up her hygiene this time -- plus she got to escape his existence with an hour-long bath.

The sleeping situation, which had started as alarming, had shifted to being just uncomfortable. Clara was able to ignore him mostly, often so tired from all the emotional spending throughout the day that she fell asleep easily enough. There were a few nightmares she had, but she couldn’t recall if she woke up or if they just phased out of her REM cycle. 

With each day that passed, Clara knew that Katz was preparing her for something. He was trying to get her back to some semblance of ‘normal’ for some reason. She didn’t like not knowing what that, his, reason was. What all did she know of Katz, from Katz’ Motel?

She wished she had access to a computer or a phone to look up more information other than what little she learned from five years ago. Five years was a long time, what did he do in that span? It was then that she wondered about Courage. Courage was her friend, her lifeline to sanity. Courage also had a computer. So far, Clara hadn’t tried to leave so there hadn’t been great detail in whether she ‘could’ or not. 

On the fourth morning, Clara said casually, “I’m going to visit my neighbor today.” 

Katz glanced up over his book with a raised eyebrow. “Your ‘neighbor’?”

“My neighbor.” Clara repeated with confidence. 

He seemed amused as if he were humoring a child talking of their imaginary friend. “And who exactly do you live next to in the middle of Nowhere?”

Unbothered by this, she smiled and said matter-of-factly, “Actually,  _ they’re  _ in the middle of Nowhere -- I’m nearly in the middle. And for your knowledge, though it’s none of your business, they’re a dog and an elderly human couple. They will be worried about me if I don’t.”

The two locked eyes and entered a staring contest. “Have fun.” Katz finally said, leaning back into the chair and going back to his book. Clara blinked, not expecting such an accepting statement. Sensing her distrust, he added, “You have a brain -- at least you should -- use it.”

Clara rolled her eyes. She thought about it for a moment, determined to figure out why he didn’t seem bothered by it. And...it came to her so obviously. He didn’t feel suspicion of her because she would return to the house. She would because it was hers, in essence if not by paper. And if she were to tell anyone about Katz, she would have to explain  _ everything _ ...which, similar to calling the police, she just wouldn’t do.

Scowling, Clara got up and got her keys. “Asshole.” She murmured under her breath as she left. She knew he had heard it because his ears twitched.

~

A heavy weight lifted from Clara the more she got away from Katz. Sure, she was leaving her house, but she’d be back. This was a break...and a mission. She wanted to research and find a way to get rid of Katz. Clara thought back to her bank accounts and cash. It was dwindling, of course it was, so she needed to pull something soon. That meant she also couldn’t hire someone to get rid of Katz either. 

By the time she got to Courage’s, Clara felt...clear headed. She parked and sat there for a minute. Much to her annoyance, she did have to admit that Katz had gotten her back from the edge of possible death. She was clean, well-fed, and doing more than just lying around. The pain was still there, that ache and emptiness, but it wasn’t as pressing as before. The grief didn’t take up all of her vision, for she saw something of a future now. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

It took no more than two knocks for the door to fly open and for Courage to be standing there. “Clara!” He squeaked before hugging her. A soft ‘oomph’ left her as she felt the lavender haired boy’s arms tighten around her. She hugged him back and felt emotions catch at her throat. “I was hoping you’d visit.” Courage stepped back and looked up at him. “I was worried...but Muriel said we should let you have some time...and...here, come in, come in.”

The pair walked in and after a round of greetings, she heard Muriel putting on a pot of tea in the kitchen. Clara had to remind herself to keep it cool. The last thing she needed was Courage to find out about Katz...about how Katz lost a spider to Francis and her...how it was a common, frequent thing, the thievery and worse. No, she had to give Courage no reason to suspect or she’d lose her only friends.

“I was wondering,” she said to Courage, “do you think I might be able to use your computer? I wanted to order a phone...and look up some stuff.” 

Courage blinked. “Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll bring the tea up in a minute if you want to head up? Seat should still be warm.” He smiled. As Clara started up the stairs, he added, “Uh, also...Clara? You look...you look like you’re doing okay. I mean, you look healthy.”

She smiled a little and thanked him, but couldn’t get the damn thought out of her head that this wouldn’t be so if it weren’t that troublesome cat. Which gave her all the more reason to research him and find out his ulterior motive. Once she got to the computer room and sat, noting that it was indeed warm, she got to work. She looked up every database, records, and newspaper she could think of regarding Katz -- which was unsurprisingly hard given his lack of a last name.

Interestingly, there were several businesses that he owned. Katz Motel, Katz Cruises, Katz Kandy Store, and more. They were all small businesses, noted by paying pitiful taxes and not much success in sales. No doubt that was on purpose. If she had to guess, knowing Katz as little as she does, it would make sense that these many businesses were a front. 

To her surprise, or not really, there were no arrest records on Katz. She shook her head. There were also no marriage, divorce, lawsuits, or other legal documents on him. He didn’t even own the land his businesses were on. Unless...Clara frowned. Unless he used a different name. Did he have a family name? Or family that he used? She dug deeper. The rabbit hole she fell down was deep, but it was worth it.

Clara’s lips parted in shock. Finally she had found one track on this man, and it was a news article about a woman -- named  _ Kitty _ . 

“Sorry for the delay, Muriel made us some Happy Plums and...Clara? You okay?” Courage had just pushed the door open with his shoulder and walked in backwards, holding the tray of tea and plums. Clara exited quickly out of the screens she was on, leaving just the phone she was going to order by mail. 

She turned and smiled, trying to ignore the feeling of sand through her limbs. “Just fine...sorry, I was surprised at the cost of the phone -- so affordable!” And if she sounded breathless at the end, Courage was kind enough to ignore it. The way he glanced up at her suggested that he didn’t believe her. She was impressed if that was the case because it suggested that he had gotten to know her well, that she had let him get to know  _ her _ the past several months. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter much if it doesn’t work all the time out here in the middle of Nowhere.” He lamented as he placed the tray on a nearby table. He brought two cups to Clara, one of tea and one of happy plums with extra cream. Though she had gained some weight the past couple days of eating regularly, she suspected she didn’t look entirely like her old self, hence the extra calories. She didn’t complain though.

“You’re having trouble with your phone?” She asked as Courage sat in a nearby chair with his treats. She tried her best to focus on the present and not the pressing information she had just discovered.

_ Kitty _ as in Kitty that Bunny from Mad Dog’s had mentioned. The place that Katz had first found her, Mad Dog’s casino. Kitty. The pair had to be related, obviously, with names like that. But what had she found out about Kitty? She wanted to read more...she needed to read more.

“Mostly when the weather is bad or it’s really cloudy.” Courage made a face that lasted just for a second, his nose twitching. That displeased expression shifted to one of contentment as he took a bite of a plum. “My literary agent said he was trying to contact me about a draft, but I never got the call. The moment the clouds parted, I had twelve voicemails!” 

Clara tsked. “No wonder you all still have a landline. Though I suppose that’s used more for the internet than for conversation, Mr. Author.” She teased softly.

Courage blushed softly. “Only during work hours.” He drank some tea. “And you? Have you...been keeping busy?”

Having just taken a sip of tea herself, cueing off Courage, Clara swallowed hard. She thought of Katz and how he had been irritating to her the past four days. What had she been doing all this time? Existing. Eating. Bathing. Cleaning. She had been kept busy by just trying to live...and live out of spite against Katz. How could she tell her friend that an annoying cat had moved in against her will with the threat of the deed to the house, going as far as to share a bed because he was a twat?

In short, she couldn’t.

“In a sense...it’s been hard.” She admitted, wondering if there was something in these plums that made her speak a bit more open than she typically would. “I think having the cell phone will help, being able to connect with the outside world again I mean.” She took another bite.

Courage had just finished his last plum, licking at his fingers with pleasure. The feeling was short-lived though as he re-focused. “Are you sleeping well? Eating?” 

It wasn’t lost on her that he was asking very direct questions -- a show that he was comfortable with her and she with him. She shifted in the computer chair. “I’m eating at least twice a day, yes. Real meals, not snacks. And I sleep…” She had nightmares. Of course she did. He knew it and she did too. She just...she just couldn’t recall what happened to the nightmares. Did she sleep through them or did she wake and not recall waking? Strange how she had found herself weary emotionally from dealing with Katz than tired physically since he had moved in. Was he drugging her to sleep through the night, maybe?

“That’s good,” Courage said, bringing her attention back, “Is there anything I can do? I’m always free for a sleepover again…?”

Clara had to bite her tongue to keep from responding too quickly. She tried to sound and look thoughtful before speaking, “Not for a while, I think...but maybe I can come visit for the night over here?” She needed to keep Courage from finding out about Katz. It would open too many questions and she wasn’t ready for those answers.

“Absolutely!” He smiled. “Any time, Clara. I’ll need your eyes to find all my grammar errors soon, just so you know.” 

She found herself returning the smile, unable to resist. “Soon.” She promised. She just needed a handle on Katz first.

“Are you done? Here, I’ll take these downstairs and you can finish purchasing the phone.” She wondered if the look he gave her as he took the empty mugs from her meant something. But no...it couldn’t have. This was Courage, not a partner in crime. Courage was innocent and trusting, naive almost to a fault. He trusted her and saved his thinking of suspicions for his books.

“Yeah, thanks.” She had to remind herself that he wasn’t like her, like Katz, or like Francis. Courage was...Courage. So when he left the room, she felt only a second of guilt before curiosity took over. She turned back to the computer and looked up the article she had found mentioning Kitty’s name. It took seconds to find again and a minute to read it all.

The article entailed a woman named Kitty being assaulted by an unnamed group and the article called for any witnesses to step forward. It was dated four and a half years ago. Clara frowned. Four and a half years? An unnamed group? She wondered if Mad Dog or Bunny had been connected to it. But more importantly, she wondered if Katz had come to Kitty’s side. This was, of course, assuming they knew each other or were related. But four and a half years...that would have put Katz out of one spider and a large sum of money. Had his personal life gone to shit for a few months after Francis and her visited his motel? 

And then she saw it, the thing that confirmed it all.

_ ‘A large reward is being offered for information on this case by Katz, owner of the Katz Cruises.’ _

“Holy shit.” She sat back in the comfortable chair. So they  _ did  _ know each other! Whoever had hurt Kitty, Katz had been involved shortly after losing a spider and some money. Did Katz want payback for his start of bad luck? But if this was the Kitty that Bunny knew, the same Bunny that Clara had run into at Mad Dog’s a lifetime ago...she exhaled sharply. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch then to assume Bunny and/or Kitty had recognized her somehow...and somehow told Katz? Maybe Katz had told them about her and her partner and that was how he ‘saved’ her that night? Or had he set up Mad Dog’s gang in order to ‘save’ her? Which led him to her now when Francis had been murdered. Had he been involved somehow in that? If he had tracked her down, if Kitty and Bunny had told him about her, then they must have known she had a partner. Or maybe Katz had realized she had her partner still working with her and...and…

Clara’s head was spinning. This information made for more questions than answers. She winced and covered her eyes, taking deep breaths as she tried to steady herself. She felt dizzy and sick. The plums and tea threatened to revolt in her stomach. What did it all mean? All of it, every bit of it, could have connected to so many other paths, any paths, and it was too much for Clara to think of.

She must have started to lean and fall from the chair because the next thing she knew, she felt a warm, thin, lithe body against hers, holding her up. “Whoa! Clara, are you sick? Hey, it’s okay. Come on, you can lay down over here. Can you stand? Lean on me.” 

It was Courage. She opened her eyes and put her hand down on his arm, the room still spinning a bit. She inhaled deeply and made a noise, a whimper of sorts. She stood just enough to step away from the chair and, with Courage’s support and balance, managed to lay on the floor. 

Had Katz poisoned her that morning? Was it reacting with the stress, the plums, or the tea? Or was it all in her head? Clara heard Courage faintly speaking, “Take a deep breath...it’s okay.” She tried. She tried to take a deep breath, tried to stop the spiral she had been on. All she knew for sure was that Kitty and Katz knew one another, intimately to say the least if he had offered money back then for info, and that was it. She had run into Kitty and Bunny and Kitty knew Katz...and that was all she knew.

Somehow, someway, Clara managed to break the dizzy spell. It helped to feel Courage’s hand in hers and hear his voice. She latched onto the sound, mentally clawing her way out of the spiral. Within a few minutes, all was quiet and calm. Clara tilted her head to the side and looked up at the lavender-haired man next to her. She was aware of the warmth of his hand, slightly sweaty from the situation no doubt. “...Sorry Courage.” She murmured softly, feeling exhausted from the emotional outburst. 

He looked relieved, his grip slackened a bit, and he offered a shy smile. “Anytime, Clara. Are you alright now?” 

She wondered how to respond to that. The truth was, no, but a lie was too heavy to tell. So she settled for a third option. “I should get home.” 

By the way Courage’s ears twitched and he tensed, she may as well have suggested she walk on the roof and try to fly. “What?! Nooo! You should stay here. Just for a bit longer. What if you feel sick again while you’re driving? You could crash! Or, or, or I can take you home! I can always pick you up tomorrow to get your car or...or…”

Clara squeezed his hand, silencing him. For him to bring her home would be dangerous. Katz’ car was there and the infuriating cat might actually step out on the porch just out of spite. But to leave on her own would make Courage worry...possibly enough to follow her now or later. So she made a decision. “I’ll stay a bit longer.” She agreed. “Just a bit though.”

Courage all but deflated, glad that she wasn’t going to try and drive. “Oh, thank goodness. Here, can you stand now? You’d be more comfortable on the bed.” 

To anyone else, laying on his bed may have been...an intimate act. But given that Clara was unwillingly sharing a bed with a cat she loathed and was uneasy with, resting in a friend’s bed meant nothing. She nodded and, with his help, sat up. Her stomach didn’t feel like rebelling anymore, but she felt wiped out. With Courage’s help, she got to his bed -- she swore this was his office and not his room, but what did she know? -- and laid down. 

When Courage stepped away, she felt the exhaustion weigh on her. With everything happening the past week and still being in midst of recovering, Clara couldn’t help it. Her eyelids felt heavy and, within minutes, she was asleep, completely forgetting about the news article that was up on Courage’s computer. 


	7. Chapter 7

It was dark when Clara opened her eyes. There was a bit of moonlight pouring in from the window, illuminating the room that wasn’t familiar at first. There was a computer, books, and numerous sheets of paper scattered around. That wasn’t her bedroom. So where…?

Clara sat up as she recalled where she was. It was Courage’s room and it was Courage’s bed that she lay in. She remembered what had happened before, how she had had something of a panic attack after reading...oh, shit. Clara threw her legs over the bed and went to the computer, shaking the mouse madly. It had been shut down though. Shit, she thought, did Courage see the article? Did he wonder? He had to, being a writer and cautiously curious as he was. Shit, shit, shit!

She rubbed her temples lightly. Well, it was no use of worrying now. How late was it? She glanced out the window and determined it had to be well into the night since the moon was so high. Quietly, she stepped outside and wondered where Courage was. Try as she might to avoid it, there were a couple steps that creaked on her way downstairs, but the house remained still. When she got downstairs, she paused.

Courage had fallen asleep on the couch, the very one he had said not too long ago was uncomfortable. Poor thing, she thought. What a friend she had -- for now -- that he let her rest in his bed. She wanted to reach out, to touch his hand and wake him, tell him he could go sleep in comfort...but she didn’t. To her shame, she couldn’t face the questions he might have about the article she had on his computer, the reason she had lost control of herself. 

Apologizing softly, she gingerly left the house, wincing at the squeak of the door, and went to her car. She was scared and she was ashamed of it, scared of what Courage, her only friend left, might say or think. So she got in her car and left, going back home. It was both eerie and oddly serene to drive in the middle of Nowhere at night. It was empty. Empty and quiet and still. For a second, Clara wondered if she could drive forever if it was like this...but that wouldn’t do. No, she had a home to go to...she had a house that she owned, yet didn’t.

And a fucking annoying cat to return to.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter. 

_ Katz _ .

When she got home, she was surprised to see the house lightless. His car was still there, to her annoyance, but it seemed he had gone to bed. Clara frowned. Although she wasn’t sure why, there was a part of her that was disappointed -- she blamed it on the fact that he still existed in her house. Clara turned off her car and went into the house, unlocking it as noisily as she could. If he was asleep, she hoped to wake him out of spite. But she did have to figure out still how she was going to use the new information against him, the news that he knew Kitty -- likely Mad Dog’s Bunny’s Kitty -- and that she had been hurt four years ago. 

When she entered, she shut and locked the door before tossing her keys to a nearby table. The air had a hint of a scent of earl grey tea, as if it had been made recently. Before she could think twice about that, a light came on and there in the loveseat was Katz. Clara jumped, much to her self-loathing, to see the man in his dark green shirt, beige pants, and slick red hair. On the arm of the chair sat a saucer and tea cup full of earl grey, no doubt. 

“You fucker!” Clara snapped, her heart racing. 

There was a gleam of satisfaction in Katz’ eyes that seemed to brighten in the light of the lamp. He smirked and took a sip of his tea, enjoying the staring contest they held as she calmed herself. At last, once the cup was back in the saucer, he spoke, “And here I thought I had the house by default.”

Willing herself to gain control of the situation, she scoffed. “As if. What, were you waiting up for me? Bed a bit empty?” Her hand rested on her hip.

Katz’s tail flickered at the questions. That was the only thing that offered any hint to his inner thoughts though. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you were the type to sleep with a  _ dog _ .” Before Clara could respond with spitfire and curses, he added with a hint of seriousness in his tone, “I saw a car drive by...thrice. I did not think it by chance and thought it best to stay awake...just in case they were scoping out the place.”

Any fury Clara felt at his derogatory remark turned to ice immediately. The same car? Driving by three times? If neither of them were in the world they had been in, one of deceit, she would have brushed it off -- if she were normal. To hear a car was driving by a few times in a day, particularly in the near middle of Nowhere? She felt on edge and, though she was loath to admit it, was grateful that Katz had stayed up. One never knew if it was a break-in planned or worse. Still, she couldn’t help but remark half-heartedly, “Only you would be presumptuous enough to use ‘thrice’.” But there was a shared concern between them.

Clara had to resist the urge to look out the window right away, to turn away from him to scan the horizon. Instead, she locked the door behind her without looking and mentally went through the areas that might be accessible to the house. Windows, front door, back door, basement… “I’ve locked them all,” Katz said uncannily to her unspoken musing. “It is fortunate that there are no large vegetation around the property,” ‘the’ not ‘your’, “for others to hide in. I checked when I last got myself a cup of tea.”

That was as much of a relief as it was annoying that he knew her well enough to reassure her without her voicing anything. Actually, it was more annoying than relief to know he was drinking her good earl grey! Clara tried to brush it off for now. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” But she wasn’t sure and nor was he. The fact that they both were tense, that they both were undoubtedly thinking the same thing was due to the fact that both were con artists and thieves. For all they knew, it was someone else wanting to repay Clara for her past activities -- or Katz. Who knew who might have tracked him down here? “I’ll leave you to it then and retire to  _ my  _ bed.” Not that she would sleep after her long exhausted nap. Still, it would give her a solid look out point.

“The dog tire you out that much?” He said cattily. His tail flicked again.

Clara’s jaw tensed. It was on the tip of her tongue --  _ listen here, you motherfucking cat  _ \-- but she resisted. It was also tempting to bring up Kitty...but she resisted. If there really was someone staking out the place, she didn’t want to disrupt his attention. It was indeed something of a symbiotic relationship between the pair, as he had his use. “Such a filthy mind you have, Katz. You must have grown up in the gutters.” A throwaway remark, but one that hit the mark unintentionally -- Katz’s yellow eyes narrowed. Well, well, well. “Turn off that light, you’re wasting electricity.” Not that he would give them away, but that he was wasting money -- Clara refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging a potential threat.

To her relief, he did turn it off. Darkness consumed them both once more. The window curtains were open, allowing some moonlight in so she could see his eyes glowing at her. Sensing they both had finished spitting barbs at one another, Clara went to the kitchen for a glass of water before retiring. It was only as she rummaged through the cabinets for a glass did she realize something.

The large butcher knife was missing from the block. Clara looked at the back door and window, but both were locked. That meant...a shiver climbed down Clara’s spine. Katz had the knife hidden on him. Clearly it was for the possible intruder, but still...she didn’t like that knowledge one bit.

~

It wasn’t often that Clara was awake to watch the sunrise, but today was one of those times. She had sat at the bay window all night, her bedroom door locked and her glass empty on the nightstand. The bed was still made, pristine and untouched by either of them. She hadn’t heard much movement downstairs for the remainder of the night, but she knew Katz was still there. Where else could he be? 

She felt a bit tired, but not so much if she hadn’t slept at Courage’s. Which...she frowned. That was something she would have to address soon. Without a phone, there was no way he could contact her to check in, meaning he might drive over. That wouldn’t be good. But, first thing first.

Clara changed her clothes. She didn’t need a shower, not yet. What she needed was to...to...hm. As she stripped off her shirt and replaced her bra, she found that she didn’t have a plan just yet. Her night had been spent on guard, not on thought. 

_ Kitty _ .

She had to inquire. She had to ask Katz about her...the injury, the reward...and how he found her back at Mad Dog’s that night. There was little chance that it was by coincidence, not when there was a Kitty there that had seen her before. But how? She needed to catch Katz off guard...and preferably without that knife he had taken for possible self-defense.

With clean blue jeans on, she made her way out of the bedroom. Clara walked as quiet as she could, avoiding the creaks and groans of the house that she owned, no matter what a damn slip of paper said. When she got downstairs, she was surprised to see the living room empty. The surprise didn’t last long though as there was the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen. 

When she got to the kitchen, she leaned against the doorway. Katz was washing the tea pot as the light on the oven flicked off, signaling something baking. She watched him in silence, knowing he knew she was there, but still taking the moment to observe. The knife, she noted, was back in the block. The man before her...well, the back of him, was at ease or appeared to be. His tail moved lazily as he scrubbed and rinsed dishes. He wore the same clothes from last night -- of course he did, as his clothes were in a suitcase in her room which she had locked up -- but they didn’t seem horribly wrinkled. He himself seemed awake as well, though that might not last when the need to nap called. 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to stare, girl?” Ah, but he was a grouchy, grumpy, sleepy asshole nevertheless.

Clara shot back, “Didn’t yours?” It occurred to her then, as his shoulders tensed, that they may have more in common than she realized. Not that she wanted to get close and cozy with him, but still, good to know. 

She took a seat and watched him in silence as he finished the dishes and pulled out something from the oven. The moment the oven door opened, the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. Her mouth watered. It was only as she pictured Katz kneading the dough that she smirked, almost laughing. He took out the butter and two jams from the fridge -- cherry and plum -- before placing them and the bread on the table. He then received and placed two plates and butter knives on the table.

Only then did Clara get up to get the container of milk and two glasses, prompting him to wait before tearing into the bread and, thus, torturing herself a bit too. Now that all was settled, he tore the hot bread into two and placed half on her plate. She took it and cut it open before slathering butter and cherry jam on both slices. He, she noted, used a sparing amount of butter and a healthy amount of plum jam.

They ate in silence. It was quite delicious, she had to admit, but then again, how hard was it to mess up freshly baked bread? Once their plates were empty, they both worked on their glasses of milk. After a minute, Clara decided to take the plunge before he could bait her.

“Did you ever find out who?” 

Katz’ yellow, sharp gaze met her blue one. There was a level of curiosity and caution to him, but he took the bait nevertheless. “Who what?” He could guess that she wasn’t referencing the car last night, but he wasn’t sure what beyond that. He took a long sip of his milk.

Clara’s elbows rested on the table as she leaned causally into them. She waited just as he was about to swallow, timing it perfectly, before speaking, “Who assaulted Kitty.”

Katz froze for a second, but that was enough satisfaction for Clara. His eyes narrowed before he slowly put the glass of milk down. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before speaking, his tone crisp and cool, “Did some research, I see?” It was too late though, she knew she had struck a chord.

“A bit.” She admitted and rested her head on her hand on the table. “So...did you?”

His tail flicked sharply, the only outward sign of his agitation. A long moment passed. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and laced his fingers together on the table. “It took you long enough, girl. But then, I suppose grief can impair even half-decent minds.”

Refusing to take the bait, particularly since she knew she had gotten to him, Clara smirked. “That it can.” How he knew, she wasn’t sure, but she sensed they both had a loaded history. Not that they would share -- they weren’t friends or even partners, after all. “Did you grieve for your Kitty?” 

“She did not pass.” He said firmly.

Something flashed over Clara’s blue eyes. “I know -- I saw her at Mad Dog’s not too long ago…but you knew that.” It wasn’t a question. 

They locked into a staring contest. It was arguably the first time that she had turned the tables on him and, damn, it felt  _ good _ . She tried not to smile, but failed, feeling her lips twitch into a grin. It earned her a scowl and she only grinned wider. “We need to prepare for a possible visitor returning.” He stood and picked up his empty dishes. 

By the time he placed them in the sink, Clara had walked over and stood behind him. When he turned, sensing her behind him, she locked eyes with him again. It was only faintly in the back of her mind that there was just a few inches between them, they were so close. “Is Kitty your lover?” She asked bluntly. It wasn’t the question she wanted to ask, not at first. She had wanted to ask  _ how did you know where to find me, to save me that one night,  _ but instead, this flew from her lips.

And it got a reaction -- a sneer, actually. “Absolutely not!” He seemed disgusted with the concept. 

She latched onto it. “Then she is your…?” 

But Katz came to his senses, to his credit. “None of your business, girl.” His voice was sharp and cold. He leaned forward, closing the few inches they had until their noses almost touched. “And if you have any sense of self-preservation,” there was a growl under his annoyed tone, “you will cease your questions.”

It took a moment longer for Clara to be able to inhale air. “Or what,” she dared to ask in a shaky exhale, “you’ll stab me? I’m too precious for you to kill.” It was a fact. If they were similar, more similar than she cared to admit, than her thinking was right: he needed, wanted, her for some scheme or another. He could threaten and blackmail, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t harm her. “So who is she?” And perhaps this knowledge made her bold. “Or should I drive down to Mad Dog’s and ask myself?” Perhaps  _ too  _ bold, for he moved suddenly.

He walked forward to her, taking a step and prompting her to take a step back, once, twice, three times until she bumped into the table noisily. His hands rested on either side of her on the table, effectively pinning and towering over her at the table. Clara stopped breathing for a moment. For that moment, Katz didn’t speak. He glowered over her, kept his unblinking gaze on her as she fought not to tremble or show the fear and uncertainty she felt. Finally, he spoke, his voice harsh and quiet. “Try it...and  _ he  _ will kill you.” 

With that, he stepped back and walked out of the kitchen. Clara was left there, speechless and still, uncomfortable and uneasy, for a minute. By the time she snapped back to it, she realized he had gone upstairs, if the sounds upstairs suggested anything. He was in the bathroom -- and bathing, if the pipes turning on had anything to say. How...interesting. She tried to ignore how hard and fast her heart was beating and instead went to clean the few dishes they had dirtied -- and if she messed with the water for his showering, then good.

Katz had refused to answer her. How interesting. Clara got lost in her thoughts, in her memory of minutes ago, as she scrubbed and sudded up the dishes. What did it mean? What was he uncomfortable or scared of? Could she use Kitty as an ally somehow? As Clara washed off the plates, there was a soft clinking of a picked lock at the front door. Nor did she hear the soft patter of footfalls as she dried the plates and put them up, the clinking of each plate in the air. It was only when she turned, about to leave the kitchen, that she swore she saw a shadow.

Clara tensed and grabbed the butcher knife -- the same that Katz had held not an hour ago -- before entering the kitchen. She expected to see something, to see someone, perhaps intimidating and frightening...but...nothing. There was nothing there. Frowning, she glanced up at the staircase. Perhaps...perhaps she would be glad when Katz finished his shower. It would allow her to blame him for the shadows she saw. Unless...unless it was a ghost.


	8. Chapter 8

Once Katz had showered, he had gone to bed - Clara’s bed - for a nap. She let him. She herself felt a bit tired. She let him have her bed while she lay on the couch, expecting to drift off. She turned on the radio and wondered faintly if Courage would wake with sore muscles. There was guilt there that she had left him on the couch, but she couldn’t face his questions. Even now, she didn’t have many answers.

Clara stared at the ceiling, thinking for a long time...until she wasn’t. She had fallen asleep before ten in the morning. Undoubtedly her sleep schedule was messed up. Bit by bit, her muscles relaxed, her lips parted, and her breathing slowed rhythmically. Her concerns about Courage, the article, and Katz vanished. 

In her dream, she was being spun in the air by Francis. He was alive, healthy, and they were laughing. They had bought the house and were moving into it with their meager belongings, laying on a blanket in the living room and talking of where they would put pieces of furniture around once they got them. Then they were quiet in her dream.  _ ‘It’s all yours’ _ , Francis said, his voice real in her ears,  _ ‘forever if you want. Or for six months if you want to sell it. But make no mistake....no more street-living for either of us, Winnie.’ _ He swore.

It was so sweet, the dream. It was sweet, peaceful, comfortable, and endearing. Francis laid next to her on the floor and murmured softly, alive and well. They were secure and speaking of their next gig. They had a good one, one that would bring them enough money to take the season off. 

Then it all changed. The Francis in her dream next to her suddenly wasn’t able to talk. The sound of choking filled the air and when she looked, he was foaming red froth at the mouth and had a wide glassy-eyed look at the ceiling. In the dream, she shook him and shouted, but the only sound that filled her ears was the phone ringing and his damn voicemail. She shouted his name again before she felt her conscious shift.

Bit by bit by bit...and she was pulled out of the nightmare. She pulled herself from the nightmare until she gasped loudly on the couch, her heart pounding and her eyes stinging with tears unshed. She lay there for another moment, collecting herself, before she sat up and rubbed at her eyes free of tears. 

She was in the living room at her home and Katz...Katz was upstairs. She remembered. The nap she took couldn’t have lasted long. Perhaps if she washed her face to rid the last bit of sleep and nightmare, she could go visit Francis outside. Before she could stand, however, she saw a shift to the side. Clara turned, half-expecting to see the curtains waving and half expecting to see Katz sneering at the noises she made. What she saw, unfortunately, was neither.

Before her just feet away was a man. He was young, her age, but it was hard to tell given the large sunglasses. His hair was orange, he had orange ears and a bushy tail, and...and... _ he was a stranger in her house. _ “Mornin’ Cherie.” The accented voice rang out sharp in the otherwise still air.

It took just the second for Clara to process what this meant. There was a man in her living room. She felt the blood in her face drain. Clara turned and made to jump over the couch, to make her way upstairs or outside -- somewhere, anywhere away from this stranger, when she felt his arm around her waist. 

A hand slapped across her mouth from behind, muffling her shouts. “Shh, shh, shh! No need to wake the whole house now, hm?” His hot breath hit her ear as he murmured to her. She grabbed his arm and tried her best to pull it away, but failed. Somehow in her struggle as he was pulling her away from both the door and the staircase, she managed to sink her teeth into his hand. A sharp yelp left him as he pulled his hand away from her mouth, giving her just a split second of time to act on instinct. 

“Katz!” The shout left her without reservation, traveling up the staircase and surprising even her. No way would she have thought to ever call out for his help, yet here she was. Within seconds, Katz was at the midway of the staircase, alert and tense. The stranger’s arm kept tight around her waist even as she dug her nails into him, trying to free herself. His free hand, which was undoubtedly smarting from her bite, grabbed her arm as she struggled.

The red haired man studied the scene for a second. His tail flicked in annoyance, sharp and pointed. “So...you’re the owner of that horrific excuse of a car.” He said simply. It was almost as if he was more annoyed to have been awoken from a nap, perhaps even having failed to catch the intruder before he entered, than having Clara in the man’s grasp. She wasn’t sure why, but that bothered her on some level.

The orange haired man made a noise that sounded a mix of tsking and sucking air through his teeth. “Why, now I do declare, I take great offense to that! There’s nothin’ wrong with my car! Bigger and better than that little clown car out yonder.” 

Clara had stopped struggling and took a second to process the pair snarling and sniping...about a car. She exhaled sharply and turned to look at the man, but only saw her reflection in his sunglasses, then back at Katz. They didn’t seem...terribly upset about one another. Well, not in the way she had anticipated. If the scowls and tension in both of their frames suggested anything, it was that they didn’t like one another...but not that they were surprised to see each other. “What…” Her voice sounded strange to her, edged with unease, “...what in the hell is going on? You two  _ know  _ each other?”

Katz crossed his arms across his chest and scoffed. “Kindly do not insult me. I do not ‘know’ backwater foxes.”

That seemed to do the trick -- the fox released Clara with a slight shove as he made his way around the couch and towards the staircase. “I’ll show you ‘backwater’, you lousy stuck-up pussycat!” 

Before he could get more than a couple steps, Clara snapped loudly, “Hold on, the both of you! Stop!” Was this a dream? “You!” She pointed to the fox. “Who the hell are you and why have you broken into my house?” 

It seemed to work for the orange haired fox turned and put his hands on his hips, smirking playfully. “What, you forgot me so easily, cherie? Oh, that hurts my heart, it does. And here I thought your little trip down the bayou had scarred you for life -- I know it did me.”

And then it all came back to her. 

Louisiana, the recipe, the contest, the fox. Francis and Clara had stolen one of his prized recipes and sold it to his competition in a contest for a few grand. Undoubtedly he had lost that contest and all subsequent from a couple years ago.

Clara felt her skin crawl with nerves that felt like ants. She knew she had lost whatever color she had regained in that moment. Fuck. The orange haired man’s smirk grew wider, more satisfied at being remembered. “There we go, I knew you wouldn’t forget about little ol’ me, cherie.”

“How did you find me?” That seemed more pressing than ‘what do you want’. Perhaps she had her focus on the wrong thing though, given that the fox -- what was his name again? -- had tried to drag her away without alerting Katz moments ago. 

The fox raised his eyebrows over his sunglasses, sparing Katz a glance before looking back at her. “Same way this joker did, I’m guessin’.” Which made Clara hold her breath, for this was a question she hadn’t received an answer to just yet. “I went to…”

“That’s quite enough idle chitchat, Fox,” Katz interrupted, “Perhaps you need new glasses because you  _ clearly  _ missed that I was here first. So do us all a favor and...shoo.” 

The dismissive tone brought the fox’s attention fully on Katz. “Is that so, huh? Fine, you get her and I’ll get that slinky man she had with her -- speakin’ of, where is he?”

The desire to know what the fox was going to say about how he found her, the irritation at being discussed as if she were an object or not there, and the unease of having  _ two  _ men she had scammed not too long ago in her house all went away. It was replaced by the heaviness of sorrow and grief, dragging her shoulders down just a bit and making her, if only for a moment, apathetic to why they were here or to herself. “You’re too late, Fox. He died not too long ago.” The words felt like thumbtacks in her mouth and she couldn’t spit them out quicker. 

The orange haired man tilted his head forward as he looked over his sunglasses at her. “Is that so?” He gave that same sort of ‘tsk’ noise he made earlier. “Shame,” he said as he stood straight once more, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose, “I was hopin’ to give him a good lickin’.”

“Now that you have sufficiently brought the mood down, Cajun,” Katz said coldly, “you can see yourself out.” 

“Not before I get a taste of what’s owed to me!” He looked back at Katz who remained on the third stair or so. “I take it you got dinged from this here girlie too, but surely there’s plenty of her to  _ share _ .” He licked his lips, amused at how Katz snarled.

It didn’t make sense. Why had Katz stayed up all night with a knife for a possible intruder, but was letting this man exist without assault? He hardly seemed bothered by the talk of...of...of what exactly? “What, are you going to cook and eat me?” There was sarcasm in her tone, but it was weak. She was still recovering from the reminder of her lost partner.

Cajun Fox -- yes, that was his name, she remembered -- smiled slowly and eerily. He stepped over to her in swift, slightly wobbly steps. To her credit, she didn’t budge, but neither did Katz. She wasn’t sure how to take it, but she assumed that Cajun wouldn’t be a threat or Katz would have...what? Saved her? Stopped him? It didn’t match last night’s behavior. It begged for more questions than answers.

Clara focused on the fox though as he stopped and stood just inches from her. She raised her chin, looking up defiantly at him and refused to give any sign of fear. Not even when he reached up and let his fingertips travel lightly up her arm. “And if I did? You look awfully tasty there, cherie,” his fingertips moved over her shoulder and up her neck, sending goosebumps over her flesh, “so pretty and dainty. I know exactly how I’d cook you up too,” he took hold of her chin and slowly licked his lips, “and where I’d start lickin’ first.” 

To her shame, Clara shivered and exhaled shakily. She could see herself in his sunglasses and just a hint of his eyes behind them, no more than what she had seen peeking out earlier. There was no fear, she was glad to see, but there was definitely something else in her gaze that she dared to think he might be reflecting behind his shades. 

A clearing of the throat snapped her out of the spell. It was Katz who had cleared his throat. She blinked and swatted Cajun’s hand away from her. Whatever she had expressed was replaced with annoyance. “I’m not on anyone’s menu, Fox.”

“Oh, please, call me ‘Cajun’,” he sounded smug, knowing the effect he had on her, “I feel we’re on a first-name basis,” his voice shifted to one of displeasure, “after you stole my recipe from me!” 

Clara took a step back, not expecting the sudden shift of moods. At least Katz was a sour grouch from dawn to dusk. Cajun, however, was all over the place and she wasn’t sure if it was play-acting or not. 

Cajun continued, his voice taunting her, “And I wouldn’t say you aren’t on anyone’s menu, cherie,” he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled, “or else ol’ Mad Dog wouldn’t be…”

A hand shot out and covered the fox’s mouth. It belonged to Katz, who had moved so swiftly and silently that it made Clara jump. The words had been said though, and she latched onto them. “What? What are you saying? Mad Dog wouldn’t be doing what?” She looked between the pair. Fox elbowed Katz in the side, prompting him to grimace and remove his hand. Perhaps what was more damning was that there were no curses, name-calling, or scoffs between them at this sudden invasion of personal space. “What do you know that you aren’t telling me?” She glared at them both.

To absolutely no surprise, Katz’ lips thinned and he crossed his arms, a signal that he wouldn’t comment. Cajun, however, looked delighted at her question. “Ooohhh, what’s this? You don’t  _ know _ , mon petit voleur? Ol’ cranky pants here hasn’t spilled the beans?” Clara didn’t respond for he knew he had her captured. The fact that Katz didn’t react or move spoke in volumes -- just as his attempt to silence the fox had spoken loudly. She wasn’t going to like this. The fox reached forward and took a strand of her long blond hair and raised it just to his nose to catch a whiff of day-old shampoo. “Mad Dog has a hit out on you,” he finally explained. 


	9. Chapter 9

Numb. She felt numb. There wasn’t the sort of panic she had felt at Courage’s yesterday after seeing that article. No, to hear someone was actively wanting her dead, to hear that he might, by proxy, be responsible for her partner being dead? Clara felt numb, pure and simple. It was probably for the best that she did, something of a survival technique, because if she had passed out or worse before these two men who, evidently, had found her through a hit? She might not ever wake up.

Her heart thudded when she took a deep breath in. Her head started to spin as if delayed. There were so many questions, too many questions, and she couldn’t find the words to use in asking them. Kitty was forgotten, Francis was put aside mentally, and her head felt full of sludge. 

Her blue eyes found Katz’s yellow ones. “...Did you do all of this to...to torture me? Like a lamb for slaughter?” ‘All this’. If Mad Dog had wanted her dead, she would have gladly done so a week or two ago. But now? Katz had prompted her to eat, to drink, to bathe, to  _ live _ ...but why? That had been the question. She had assumed it was from him wanting to use her in a scheme somehow -- but death? For a reward? If the reward for her death was equivalent to what he had lost those years ago on his spider, she should have felt a bit honored to be considered so valuable. But there was a certain odd sting of betrayal in that line of thinking. After all, hadn’t Katz essentially saved her? Never mind the meals he had cooked, the mere constant presence of his that had driven out her isolation, or the bed they had shared...had he done all of this just to kill her, or bring her to death?

“No,” Katz said firmly, his tone somber and a bit forceful, “I did not. I am not here to complete the request of a revolting dog.”

“But  _ you  _ are.” Clara turned to look at the fox. She didn’t know him beyond much so there was no disbelief or betrayal. Instead, and for the better, a bit of emotion kicked in. She felt fury and hatred. “I’ll strangle you with your own tail if you try it.” 

Her facial expression must have changed from a pale, bland look to one of pink rage, eyes narrowed and a snarl on her lips, because that, coupled with her promise, made the fox step back with his hands up. “Whoa there, mon petit, no need to be so vicious. I’m not here to kill ya, I promise. I’m sayin’ I found you through Mad Dog’s request...took me a bit to find ya, but I had enough details to use, given our, uh, past history.”

A dozen questions, a dozen and she wasn’t sure what to pick first. “Then why  _ are _ you here? Both of you?” She took advantage of the heated feeling that filled her, latching onto it while she could. “Tell me. Tell right this instance and tell me the truth or else I assure you, you will not breathe one minute longer in my house, consequences be damned.” 

A shaky laugh left the orange haired man. “I’m here because you owe me a new award-winning recipe...preferably passed on through your family.”

Clara moved her gaze to Katz. The red haired man made a small face, then looked away. “Money.” 

A scoff left Clara, then a laugh, one bitter and cold. “Well I hate to tell you both, but you’re shit out of luck! I haven’t gotten any famous award-winning recipes -- hell, I haven’t had a family since I was eight! And I don’t have much money, nowhere near the amount you want, so why don’t you both pack up and get the hell out of my house? What, Katz, you want the house as compensation? I doubt that would make up the difference!” 

The pair wisely said nothing, letting her process the emotions and her outburst. After a minute, Katz spoke again, completely cool and calm, “There is another way for me to obtain my money...as well as replenish your stocks.” 

There was just a bit of sharpness left in her, of temper that shot out one last time, “I will  _ not  _ become a prostitute or be your slave in schemes, you sharp-nose bastard.” 

“Ho ho!” Cajun clapped his hands, calling out with a laugh. “Damn, she got you good there.” 

A bright pink covered Katz’ face as he growled at the fox. “Be silent, you cretan.” He looked back at Clara and, still blushing, said, “And you, girl,” he looked like he was trying to recover and save some face, “whatever you do on the side is your doing, but...prostitution,” his voice dipped lower at the word, “was _ not  _ what I had in mind.” Clara didn’t snap at him only because she knew she had put a dent in his armor already. “Nor was I going to suggest a sort of ownership system.”

“Then  _ what _ were you going to suggest?” She glared, disbelieving.

Katz inhaled deeply and stood straighter, the blush leaving his face at last. “An equal partnership.” At last, he had shown his cards. Clara blinked and stared, processing. He added, “You are neither the type nor in the situation to be out for the remainder of your life. I can’t picture you in an office job either so that means, sooner or later, you will engage in your schemes once more. Given your loss,” he said tactifully, “I thought it would benefit both of us to join and work together in order to make a living -- and for you to pay me back the distress you put me through.”

Before Clara could think or speak, Cajun gave a short laugh. “Is that your version of a marriage proposal?”

Katz’s ears went back and his tail stood up straight. “Listen here you redneck inbred fox!”

“And you?” Clara interrupted before violence could erupt, pointedly not responding to Katz’s suggestion. She spoke to the fox. “I have no recipe so get out.”

“Well hey now,” he said as he took a step away from Katz, “I’m liking the sound of this partnership thing -- why not split it threesies?” 

“Because the idea of you being at all subtle in a scheme is as laughable as...well, as you are.” Katz interjected.

The two started to bicker while Clara tried to process it all. She shook her head, feeling a headache come on. Okay, so neither of them wanted to kill her. That was great. But that still brought up the origin of their finding her -- Mad Dog.  _ That  _ was one who did want her dead. “I don’t understand,” the two stopped immediately when she spoke, “how did you find me from Mad Dog’s hit? If he had my address, why am I alive?”

“It’s  _ because  _ he doesn’t have your address that you’re alive.” Katz said with a deadpan tone. 

Before she could ask how they found her then, Cajun spoke up. “He was able to describe you, but he didn’t know your name. Add that info in with your little schemes, I was able to figure out who he was lookin’ for. Figured you would be nearby when I heard this fool,” he gestured to Katz with his thumb, “was in town.”

Clara blinked twice. “So you do know each other?”

“Unfortunately.” Katz finally admitted with disgust.

“How?” 

Cajun smirked, amused at Katz’s displeasure and enjoying the fact that he was likely going to add to it. “You’re infamous in our little circle, cherie. There’s a string of us who’ve been huntin’ for ya all this time. All it took was a question or two, someone who knows someone, and here we are. Took a few years, but you are more than worth the wait, hmm, hmm, hmm.” Through the sunglasses, she could all but feel the man’s gaze travel over her.

Clara gritted her teeth. She shouldn’t be so surprised, yet she was to learn that the fox and cat, likely the others she and Francis had stolen from in the past, had been low-key looking for her all this time. But who had set off the first alert? “And Mad Dog asked the right question?”

Cajun shook his head. “Nope...this fool here did.”

Clara and Katz met eyes. There was a moment of silence before it became clear that Katz wouldn’t speak first. Luckily, he didn’t need to as Clara’s mind started to work once more. “Kitty.” It wasn’t a question. Kitty had alerted him.

There was a flinch of his lips, a flash of a scowl, before he returned to a neutral expression. “Of sorts.” He didn’t want to divulge more with the fox next to him. But, Clara thought, there was a puzzle piece missing. It was something she’d have to let go of for now. 

“But how...oh.” Clara stared at Katz. “My phone.” She forgot she had left her phone in his car that night when he had ‘saved’ her. Of course he had used that to find her location. The fact that he didn’t dispute it confirmed it.

The matter of the proposed partnership, three-way or otherwise, had to be addressed. Except… “Did Mad Dog kill Francis?” If there was a crack in her tone, neither could possibly blame her. It was a frightening question but it had to be answered.

The two shared a glance. “We don’t know.” Katz spoke for them both. “It is difficult to ascertain such a possibility since we were only alerted about you. There was no mention of your late partner.” 

That didn’t sound good. In fact, it made her think that it was likely he had. Mad Dog’s men had almost attacked her that night, Francis was killed not too long after, and then Mad Dog put out a hit on her. It seemed too likely to be anything else. Clara wasn’t sure how to feel about this. She would need time to process it. 

But out of this came some solid knowledge, namely how the pair had found her and why they wanted to, what they wanted. Now...now she just had to figure out what to do next. She walked past them both and started to put her shoes on.

“Where ya goin’, mon cherie?” Cajun asked. Katz didn’t.

“A walk.” She said, back to the numbness from before. 

“In the middle of Nowhere?” Cajun scoffed.

Clara glanced up at him. “Nearly in the middle of Nowhere.” She didn’t have a phone, didn’t even order one last night from Courage’s computer, but she didn’t care. It was unlikely a car would be near her by a dozen yards with the path she’d be walking. “I need to think.” About Mad Dog, Francis, Katz, Cajun, and work. It was an unspoken statement that she didn’t want to be followed.

Cajun turned to Katz and raised a brow, pointing his thumb towards Clara. “You just gonna let her walk out?”

Katz frowned. He didn’t want to, but wasn’t about to let Cajun have a moral high ground of being right. “She can handle herself.”

The door shut and the last thing Clara heard Cajun say before it did was, “Man, you’re letting your golden goose go out to be got.” She believed he would be wrong. She’d be fine on the walk from anyone hunting her. And maybe, if the weather suggested anything, it might rain and give her some coverage. She just needed to get away from everyone for a bit.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn’t common for it to rain this far out in Nowhere. Maybe three or four times a year, max. Today, for one reason or another, was one of those times. Clara relished in it. It started to rain about an hour into her walk and it was the perfect thing. The sun had been warming her before the clouds rushed in and the cool water fell. It felt magnificent. It was a late summer rain, one that seemed to be a blessing from the heat. Not long from now there would be fallen leaves and snow -- and it would be the first time she felt autumn and winter without her best friend.

Could Francis have been killed on Mad Dog’s command? She thought he had gone to the human city, but ended up in an animal city instead. Why had he lied to her? Or had he told the truth and been called away? But what could lure him from the human city to a place that they both knew they had to lay low from for a while? More questions than answers yet again.

Clara turned around and started to walk back after she felt her shoes start to squish with the rainwater and mud. What was she going to do with the two men who had forced their way into her life and her home? A partnership...it was one thing to suspect Katz wanted to work with her, but to have him speak so bluntly and lay it out so clearly was unnerving. Of course there was a matter of trust involved, trust that he would work with her and keep her safe as she would him, but there was also the frightening concept of...of...of moving on. 

Katz had a point though. She couldn’t stay at the house for the rest of her life. Eventually she would need money, as well as the thrill of a scam, and she would have to get back into it. To have someone with her, or two evidently from Cajun’s suggestion, was appealing. It made things easier...but it came down to trust. And, of course, to moving on. Was she replacing Francis? No...no, he would understand. Life was for the living and she had to keep about it. But...but Clara was nervous. Katz would never replace Francis, but to suggest or think he might offer something similar, though it likely would pale in comparison, to what she had with Francis was...different. It was new. It was scary.

But if she refused? What would Katz do? Leave? Obtain her house? The fact that the man -- both men, technically, though she was less trusting of Cajun -- had heard Mad Dog’s cry to end her and instead had come to her house with a lack of intent to kill spoke volumes. Hell, Katz had even brought her back to the world of the living. It would be a fairly cruel thing to do to do that just to bring her to her death for a reward. But...well, was Katz cruel? There was so much she didn’t know about him. 

Like Kitty, she thought. What had happened after that article? Did he ever find out the answer? Did he ever get revenge? What did that revenge look like -- and would similar revenge be warranted for her own action of stealing and selling his spider before that? Why was Kitty with Bunny and Mad Dog? Had she been on the look out for someone fitting Clara’s description that first time and told Katz? But how?! How could she have when Clara had been in a disguise?

The walk provided little answers and served little purpose other than to wear her out and get her sopping wet. She didn’t even know how to approach the fox yet either, yet she saw her home in the distance and knew it was time to go in and bathe. The weather was cool, though not cold, and she knew she looked like a swamp monster with her hair clinging to her neck, her clothes heavy and dripping wet, and her shoes sloshing with mud. Though she felt tired, she felt calmer. There were many questions, but she wasn’t as bothered by them for now.

Not wanting to clean up an excess of mud, she took off her shoes on the porch. When she opened the front door, the smell of strong spices hit her like a wall. Clara blinked, processing the scent. It smelled...good. Good enough to where her stomach rumbled. She closed the door behind her and inhaled deeply. It smelled delicious -- spicy, but delicious.

“You’re dripping all over the floor!” A displeased cat yowled from the living room couch. Clara turned to look, bits of water flying from the ends of her hair.

Unable to resist, she spoke dryly, “Well, obviously. It’s raining and I didn’t take an umbrella.” She shook her head, sending more droplets of water flying. Katz, who had stood from the couch, jumped back a bit to avoid the spray. This amused Clara to no end. “What are you cooking? It smells delicious.” 

Before Katz could speak, the southern accented voice rang out from the kitchen. “Well thanks little darlin’, but the only thing that grouchy pussycat can cook is weak tea.” 

“At least what I make is  _ edible _ .” Katz shot back. Clara walked over to the kitchen, curious what the fox was making. “You’re tracking water everywhere, girl!” Katz snapped.

“It’s my house,” she shot back, “so either clean it or get over it.” When she got to the kitchen, she winced. The spices the fox used made her eyes water. “What are you making?”

“One of my other recipes,” Cajun didn’t mind taking a shot at her as he stirred the pot, “homemade gumbo. Figured it’d warm you right up from that walk of yours, cherie.” He glanced over at her, a motion that only suggested it as she could only see his sunglasses. Did he wear them all the time? “Have a good walk?”

Clara brought herself back from her wondering of his shades. “It was okay.” Now that she was standing still, she felt her legs tingle with weariness. If she took a bath, she didn’t think she’d stand back up. “I’m surprised I had the ingredients for this.” She nodded towards the pot.

“Ya didn’t, not entirely. But lucky for you and that rude cat in there, I always bring a bottle of my special spice blend. Mmm-hm!”

“Right...well, I’m going to shower and change. Try not to throw Katz into the pot, won’t you?” The man laughed as she started her way up the stairs.

Just as she got to the top of the stairs, Katz’s voice drifted up, “Girl.”

Rolling her eyes, she took a step back down and glanced below to see him standing where she had left him, book in hand. “Cat.” They locked eyes for a moment.

There was the sound of something clanking in the kitchen, drawing Katz’s attention briefly. Whatever he was going to say, he switched to something safer, given the new guest. “Don’t expect me to clean your mess.”

Clara’s blue eyes narrowed slightly. She caught the shift, but it did little to quell her annoyance. “Asshole.” She murmured before going back up to the bathroom. As she was about to shut the door, she caught sight of Francis’ bedroom, closed. Her heart gave a painful thud, but she only sighed and went about to shower. 

~

Much like her first time with Katz, Clara had demanded that the fox ate some of the gumbo before anyone else did -- which he did with glee. It didn’t take too long for Clara to dive into the food though, so delicious and tempted as it smelled. After a few bites, she had to reach for a glass of milk since it was so spicy. Still, it was delicious. Not that Katz could comment on it -- he refused to touch the stuff no matter how many times they showed it wasn’t poisoned. Towards the end of the meal, Cajun remarked, “Katz is just too bland and too stuck up to enjoy the finer things in life, like my award-winnin’ gumbo.” 

The red haired man narrowed his eyes. Why he was even bothering to sit at the table was a mystery to Clara. “I do not partake in garbage, Fox.” 

Cajun Fox slammed his hands flat on the table, making all the silverware and bowls jump. He stood as he did, his smirk transformed into one of fury. “Now that’s takin’ it too far, you…” 

“Enough!” Clara snapped, raising her voice. She looked between the two, all too well aware that at least one held a knife. “If you’re going to be staying here, Fox, you two need to stop this shit! If any of us plan on making any sort of heists, there needs to be a base level of cooperation, not this petty fighting. Do you understand? Both of you?” 

Katz blinked, his tail slowly flickering. Cajun turned his eyes to her, the light reflecting off his shades. Slowly, he sat down. “Sure, mon petit patron, whatever you say.” 

When Clara looked back at Katz, the man raised a brow. “So...I take it that you’re agreeing to my proposal.”

She leaned back in her chair, her heart doing a fluttery flip at the question. It was something her walk hadn’t exactly answered, prompting her to answer now. “Not entirely.” She said slowly, trying to buy herself some time. She could feel the exhaustion from the walk kick in, but the food combated it nicely. “Let’s call our first heist a test run. We can work out the kinks from there.”

Cajun chuckled and leaned closer, his arm on the table. “Mm, I am  _ all  _ for the kinks, cherie.” His shades lowered just so to offer a glimpse of a winking aqua-blue eye. Clara blamed the gumbo for the warmth she felt travel up her neck. 

Katz growled and stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “If you two are quite done...I will be getting ready for bed. We can discuss this ‘test run’ tomorrow.”

Clara looked up at Katz, lost for what to say at first. Then she realized the word he used -- bed. Shit. That was something they hadn’t discussed. “Cajun,” she turned to look at the man who had re-adjusted his sunglasses, “you...can’t possibly be staying.” How had she lost control of her house so quickly?

The fox waved his hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, Katz told me all about the guy’s room bein’ off-limits, though he seems awfully cozy where he is.” Clara glared. “I thought I’d just cozy up next to ya, cherie.” The way he made it sound in his sing-songy tone distracted Clara from all sense. The flirting kept knocking her off her guard.

Before she could speak, Katz spoke up in his typical deadpan tone, “You can’t.”

“Let the lady speak, ya crankypants twig.” Cajun protested.

Clara wasn’t sure how she’d step around this landmine, but she needed to try. “Cajun,” she said, trying her best to imitate Katz’s cool tone, “the other bedroom is off-limits. My bed is off-limits. You can either sleep on the couch, on the floor, or in your car -- whatever you decide is not my concern though.” 

Wow, deja vu. This seemed like a familiar situation -- and that situation hadn’t ended in her favor, really. 

He didn’t look horribly put out, but he did look suspicious with his brows raised and his head tilted towards the cat. “That’s fine and dandy, girlie, but, uh, given how easily I broke in this mornin’, don’t ya think it would be wise to have someone guarding you inside the house?”

“If you are truly attempting to sell your services as a guardsman, you can do so just as effectively on the floor, where you belong, Fox.” Katz snarled. 

Clara briefly met Katz’ gaze and realized something. Neither of them felt particularly proud or willing to admit that her bed had no more room besides for the pair of them. And while this had started off as an unpleasant annoyance, morphing since as just uncomfortable but tolerable, they both understood how it could be taken by Cajun. Neither wanted to deal with  _ that _ , but the fact that they were trying to avoid it was just that much more damning. They had become accepting of their sleeping arrangement, but to say it aloud, well, it would force them to re-evaluate it. In short, it was a weakness that neither cared to admit to. Though, come to think of it, it was a weakness that made sense for poor, grieving Clara, but not one at all that made sense for Katz.

Even through sunglasses, the fox caught that too, the conspiratory glance. “Looks like you two be sharin’ a partnership already with those looks you’re givin’ each other.” He threw out without much thought. Katz scowled deeper but it was Clara’s blush and breaking of her gaze that seemed to snap Cajun into a realization. “Wait a minute! Wait a crawdad-lickin’ minute!” His jaw dropped and his sunglasses fell down his nose, revealing his wide eyes. “You two?! You two be doin’ the nasty?!”

“What?!” “Be silent you fool!” Katz and Clara both shouted at the same time. “Absolutely not!” “No!” 

Before Katz could further insult Clara, she spoke, her voice loud and her face hot, “We aren’t doing anything at all! If you’re going to think that then get out now!”

“Goin’ off those guilty as sin looks, you really sayin’ y’all aren’t doin’ the horizontal mash?” Cajun sounded disbelieving. 

This time, Katz beat her to the punch -- with a literal punch to Cajun’s face. The fox flew out of his chair as the cat grimaced and flexed his hands, his knuckles undoubtedly on fire. Clara jumped and stood from her seat, the scratching of it against the floor barely hiding Cajun’s loud curse. Before she could move, Cajun stood and ran at Katz, who managed to catch him but ended up stumbling back into the wall. The fox threw a punch and Katz grunted.

Clara wasn’t entirely sure what to do. On one hand, perhaps they needed to get the obvious tension between them out and over with. On the other hand, blood was a bitch to clean from rugs and floors. And, alright, if they  _ were  _ going to try a test run soon, it wouldn’t do well for either of them to be bruised up. Her own bruise around her neck from the first day of Katz had only faded shortly before the visit to Courage.

She made a quick decision. Bringing her fingers to her lips, she gave a sharp, shrill whistle -- and boy did that bring back memories. That had been her warning whistle to the gang of teens she had been with as a thirteen year old, her and Francis. She had been look out for more than a few times, sharp as her eyes were, and gave that shrill whistle only a few times when her group, or rather the group she was with, were about to be exposed. It was the universal sign for --  _ oh shit _ ,  _ scatter _ ! It seemed to have some sort of effect now as well, for the boys froze, fists and arms raised mid-air, and looked at her.

“I hope you two got it out of your system,” she said coldly though her voice shook from the adrenaline rush, “because the next time there is any in-house fighting -- literally or otherwise -- I will turn you out. If either of you were serious about an equal partnership, then there are some rules to learn.” 

It occured to Clara then, as she tried to steady her breath, that these two had never been in a partnership or otherwise. At least, not to her knowledge and certainly not when she and Francis had scammed them. They were loners, ones who dealt with their business singularly. This was new territory for them, but not for Clara. “First: don’t beat the shit out of each other, it leaves marks, and marks are identifiable.” Their arms fell to their sides. “Second: we are not the enemy...the outside world is. Third: if you’re prepared to hit your fellow thief, then you’d better be prepared to take a hit for them. Loyalty...loyalty is needed for this. Loyalty and trust. If I can’t trust either of you to contain your emotions in a heated moment,” and that was saying something for Katz to have gotten so worked up, “then I might as well turn myself into the police right now. The same goes for you two.”

There was silence as the pair processed what she had said. With the stillness, the adrenaline left Clara and exhaustion took her over in an overdue wave. She felt her legs shake and had to lean against the table, refusing to lose the high ground she had taken, in a sense. Bed was calling to her. Sleep was calling to her. She hadn’t slept well at Coruage’s or during her nap earlier, and damn she needed it badly after the emotional run of today. 

While it wasn’t something she cared to speak aloud, it was something to address. “Cajun, Katz and I share a bed because he’s too prissy to sleep elsewhere. That is all that happens --  _ sleep _ .” She emphasized, adding, “And if you are going to vulgar about it, then you can go ahead and walk out of my life right now without a recipe or money because I will not be called a whore in my own home.” There was a layer of thick emotion in her tone. Then she tried a slightly better tactic, one that suggested she may very well be ready for a scam or two. “In any case, Cajun,” her voice softened, “you’re from the bayou. You’re made of stronger stuff that him. You can handle a bit of roughing it on the couch, can’t you?” 

And to her pleasant surprise, the ego stroking worked. “Well of course I can, cherie, I ain’t got a silver spoon up any orifice like some others in this room.” He gave Katz a pointed glance, but thankfully no punches were thrown. “The couch does sound an awfully lot nicer than sleeping out on some moss or the like.” He said thoughtfully. “And as for the other stuff...you won’t hear a peep from me, mon petit valour.” He winked behind his shades. “If you say you’re a lady in the streets and under the sheets, then who am I to disagree -- unless you wanna show me firsthand.”

There it was again, that flirting, that borderline vulgar flirting. Yet, as Clara’s face and neck warmed, she found that she didn’t dislike it -- so long as he wasn’t referencing Katz in her bed. Was it from the grief or loneliness or just not having had any romantic endeavors like that for...well, more years than she cared to admit? Clara decided, perhaps a bit belatedly, that it was just practice. He was practicing, as she had to, at honing his skills in flirtation for the scams in the future. Practice his charm, she thought, and she would practice responding to it. Of course, the shy refusals were one thing, but she’d have to lay it on thick back at him eventually -- for practice, of course. It had been a lifetime since she had to engage in play so it would take a bit for her to return to her top game. At least, that was what she told herself.

“Good.” She looked at Katz who had a bit of a red spot on his cheek where Cajun’s first had met him. First his broken nose from her, now possibly a bruised cheek from the fox. Well, it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. “Katz? What do you say to that?”

She could see the wheels in his head turning, his mind weighing out a few possibilities to say. She wondered, not for the first time, if he had something he would like to say and would say alone, but shied away from it given their...company. “If we are to make a serious attempt at this,” he gestured to ‘this’ with a wave of his arm, “then fine, I agree. I also plan to obtain my own mattress in the near future though.”

Why did disappointment bite at Clara from his words? She brushed it aside. “Fine, whatever, first big win and you can spend your pay on a mattress.” With that settled, her shoulders lowered and she felt deflated. “I can wash dishes in the morning...but for now, I will be going to bed.” 

Cajun waved a hand at her, his own face a dark red from Katz’ fist. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, cherie, I’ll handle it.” Who was Clara to argue with that? “Sweet dreams, sugar plum,” he called out, his voice sing-songy like a lullaby as she walked out.

Clara walked upstairs to brush her teeth and retire. Katz would follow when he was ready. As for possible violence, she didn’t think either would engage for the remainder of the night. And even if they did, she hoped she would be asleep so heavily that she wouldn’t hear it. Her slumber at Courage’s had been peppered with nightmares, just as her nap this morning had. Combine that with the news of someone wanting her dead, another breaking into her house, and the long walk, she hoped she’d sleep soundly tonight. After all, she had slept soundly for all the nights before up until she left to Courage’s yesterday. That had to be mean that her bed was magical or something, she thought as her head hit the pillow.


	11. Chapter 11

And just as she hoped, Clara had slept peacefully and through the entire night. In fact, she slept so well that she didn’t wake until about two hours past her normal time. For a long while, she lay in her bed, staring out the window that was curtained. Rays of sunlight dared to sneak through, but not obtrusive enough to land in her eyes. It was quiet and still, hardly a noise could be heard in the house. For a moment, she could almost pretend that Francis was alive, that the fox and cat weren’t there, and that all was right. But...it was short lived when her mind pointed out reality. If only her garden hadn’t gone to hell during her grief, she might have been excited to see what yesterday’s rain had brought for today. Instead, there would only be mud.

Clara sat up and, without thinking, reached out to touch the side that Katz had slept on. She knew he had gone to bed sometime last night because she had woken just slightly to feel a dip in the mattress next to her. It was cool and made up, as much as it could be with her still sleeping. Well, if it was silent in the house, that meant that Katz could have choked Cajun out or the other way around. Or maybe they had taken their fight outside, trying to be clever about her rules. Except...she didn’t think either were possibile. 

Clara got dressed as her mind wondered to possibilities that involved all three of them -- plans, scams, and schemes. She put on a burnt orange skirt and a white top, mindful of the mud that would be outside until the sun baked it all back to dirt. As she did, she wondered what they should start off with. While she was used to working alone and working with another, these two weren’t. This meant they had to start off on a low-risk, low-gain plan just to break them in. 

Perhaps a simple pick-pock-distraction would work. Yes, they could go to a city where humans and animals mixed easily and they could pick-pocket the tourists. One could distract, possibly two could distract -- a fighting couple always drew attention without drawing police -- while the third stole from the on-lookers. Yes, that seemed like a good warm up, she decided.

As she started her way down the stairs, she was surprised to catch the scent of sugar and coffee. Perhaps Katz had made his tea earlier, she thought. When she got to the kitchen, noticing the living room was empty, the origins of these scents became obvious. Before her on the table was a pot of coffee and a pile of whiter-than-snow pastries. Her stomach growled, announcing her before she could. 

“Good mornin’ sleepin’ beauty,'' Cajun called out as he put down the last pot from the kitchen sink. He didn’t even turn around to look at her. “Thought all that excitement from last night might require a pick-me-up.”

Clara took a moment to regain her thoughts. “Morning. What...are they?” She walked over and picked up a pastry, surprised to feel and see that the little brown square was covered in powdered sugar.

“Beignets,” Cajun smiled as he turned to face her, his hands free of any dish or soap now, “just like mama used to make ‘em.” When she didn’t immediately shove the fried treat in her mouth, he tsked and walked over. “Here, I’ll show you they’re perfectly fine -- better than fine, actually. No poison added.” He winked as he took a bite of one. “Mmm-hm! Wash it down with some black coffee -- ain’t no better way to start your day!” 

Clara grinned a bit. There was a reasonable doubt she had of him, but he sensed it and accepted it. Their situation was different how he came into her life, more so than with Katz. Which reminded her… “Did Katz already eat?” She watched as Cajun poured her a cup of coffee and sat down. 

“Hell if I know, the grouchypants took off when I started to wash dishes.” 

This news surprised her in a way she hadn’t expected. Clara sat and took the cup, letting the warmth from it warm her fingers. “Took off? Where to?” He hadn’t left since he had first come.

Cajun shrugged. “Maybe to his catnip dealer, Heaven only knows that man needs to calm down.” He polished off that same beignet. When their eyes met -- his were still behind his shades -- he let his tongue run over the powdered sugar from his thumb and index finger. Bold as brass, he winked at her, an action just visible given their closeness. 

With her own treat partly to her lips, Clara felt a flutter in her stomach. So he laying on the flirting already before her coffee, was he? She smirked and knew she had to dish it back, for practice of course. She took a small bite of the beignet and gave a moan of pleasure. “Mm, oh, Cajun,” she dragged out the syllables, “ooh my, this is won-der-ful!” 

The fox’s brows shot up and his lips went to a surprised ‘o’ shape to a wide grin. “If that’s your reaction to my sweets, imagine what sounds you’d make if you had a taste of me!” 

It was tempting for Clara to laugh, to switch it off and finish her actually very delicious pastry, but something stoked in her, her sense of pride and desire to win. She leaned forward against the table, her breasts on the table and pushed up further by her white, long-sleeve shirt with a low cut neck. “Why imagine when we can make it a reality, pet?” Her voice was low, seductive, and to add to it, she let her tongue dart out over her lips briefly.

If steam could have shot out of his ears, it would have. Cajun sat up straight and looked surprised, even perhaps a hint of pink to his face, before he let out a loud laugh. He clapped twice in appreciation as Clara took a sip of her coffee, smiling into it as she knew she had made him crack first. “Cheeky little thing when you’ve had a full night's rest!” When he looked at her, his eyes roamed freely, and though Clara felt her skin tingle as if his gaze were tangible, she didn’t move. He leaned forward and spoke in a low volume, “I’ll be your pet if you be mine.” 

Clara couldn’t help but let a breathy laugh leave her. “Funny,” she mused after taking the last bite and picking up another fried treat, “I don’t recall you being so charming back then.” Back then meaning four or so years ago in Louisiana. She wasn’t entirely sure if she could afford to bring that up so casually as she did, especially given how he seemed to tense, his grin almost fake. 

One thing she had picked up on between yesterday and today was that the fox was a bit loopy and very moody. Perhaps, upon further reflection, it wasn’t wise to test her limits with him knowing him so little and being alone with him like this. Though he looked unhappy at going down memory lane, he responded with a light tone, “Maybe if you hadn’t come to steal my recipe, I would have stolen your heart, cherie.” 

Clara inhaled sharply, suddenly taken down memory lane with him in vivid detail. Four years ago, Clara and Francis had wanted to travel for a bit. They chose Louisiana because people were so trusting. It was a county fair they had decided to go to, ride rides, eat junk food, and watch contests. It was at one of these contests that she had overheard a certain orange-haired fox talking loudly about his four-generation-passed-down recipe that would win him the prize of a couple grand. Francis and Clara had easily found a buyer for the brass and loud fox and while Clara distracted him, Francis managed to catch a copy of the recipe written down. A couple thousand dollars later, and…

She looked down at her black coffee. Would she apologize for that? Would she apologize to Katz for the spider-swiping? No. No, she wouldn’t, just as she expected either of them to refuse to do so as well. Take advantage before you got taken advantage of, she reminded herself of her motto. She looked up at him, at his sunglasses, and said softly, “C’est la vie. Such is life, Fox.” She added, “If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have crossed paths like this again.” 

His smirk was hard to read. Damn the sunglasses. Cajun stood and studied her for a second longer. No doubt he was recalling her flirting and distracting in a disguise four years back, how she had moved her body, batted her lashes. Hadn’t she been wearing an animal disguise? She had...what was it again? Was it a bunny? How appropriate. “Ah, if I hadn’t won you over the first time, mon cherie, I’ll strive to do better this time.” He then turned away to the sink again, “Eat up.”

She did, but not with as much relish as before. In fact, she was distracted. Was he flirting with her to gain something as she did to him long ago? It was a reminder to go easy and slow with the first few heists. All of them would be a test of trust for them both. By the time she had finished breakfast, if it could be called that, something occurred to her. “Cajun,” she started.

“Hm?” He asked as he put up dishes. 

“Is…I mean, ‘Cajun’ can’t actually be your first name, is it?” 

The man turned to look at her, smiling wide. His tail swished. “Of course not, cherie, but what’s life without a bit of secret?” It made sense that he would have a name his family once called him, but kept it secret so no others would know. Wasn’t her street name ‘Winnie’, after all? And Francis had been ‘Frankie’. For the fox to guard his so closely though...well, she understood. She nodded.

Before conversation could be had further, the sound of a door shutting outside penetrated the kitchen. Clara was about to stand when the front door opened. In walked Katz with a bag. She raised a brow. “Well hi there. What’s in the bag?”

“Catnip?” Cajun called out.

Katz rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to respond to the fox. Instead, he opened up the bag and dumped the materials onto the table. Maps, maps, lists, and more lists. There were even some makeup pieces. Clara stared, processing.

It was their starter kit for scam-prep.

~

“So we’re decided.” Clara announced after the clock struck five. The day had flown by with details, discussions, and meticulous plans. They had cleared out the kitchen table to spread maps, lists of names, and recent newspapers from various cities. They had gone through several cups of tea and coffee, sweet and unsweet. Cajun had made strong sweet tea, Katz unsweet strong tea, and Clara strong coffee with just a touch of honey. “The second mix city, tourist spot, pick-pocketing and snake oil sales. Katz and I will be the ‘couple’ in a fight, Cajun you pick pocket. Then Katz will be the salesman in another area and Cajun will be the first customer and I’ll be the second. Total Sweeney Todd of sorts. Yes?” The two men agreed. “The code word for an emergency will be…” She thought.

“Merde.” Cajun supplied.

Clara smiled and even Katz smirked. “Merde it is.” She agreed. “I don’t have a phone so if we get split up, just come back here -- make sure you aren’t followed.”

Cajun gave a scoff and leaned back in his chair, his tail moving softly. “Make sure your little fanclub ain’t at your heels, pussycat.” They just couldn’t resist snipping at each other.

Katz crossed his arms. “Try not to give us away with your horrific slang, fox.” 

“What time will we be leaving?” Clara interrupted the pair. Honestly, this wasn’t the first time today that she felt like an audience member to their bantering. 

“I say let us leave at eleven,” Katz supplied, “as I expect the tourists will be out for lunch at noon.”

“Right,” she nodded, “I’ll be up early to put on a disguise.”

This seemed to perk up the orange haired man a bit. “Oooh, what are you goin’ as?”

Something in Clara perked up as a sort of lighthearted tease. “I was thinking of a rabbit.”  _ Like how you first saw me four years ago _ , she meant.

The fox must have understood because he stilled, her reflection in his glasses sharp and steady, until he grinned wide. “Saucy little minx,” he leaned forward and murmured, “You’d make for a good pet of mine out there.” 

Excited and pushed forward by it, she smirked and shot back, “You wouldn’t be able to control me, Fox.” It was play acting for tomorrow, she told herself. It was to get into character, to be able to switch her moods and behavior on the drop of a pin. It was all acting. Wasn’t it? 

Cajun barely missed a beat. “Give me a chance to try and we’ll both have fun.” 

Before she could continue on, Katz cleared his throat. “If you both are done with this revolting display…”

“Someone’s jealous.” Cajun murmured as he stood, going to the fridge. 

One may as well have stepped on Katz’s tail for the way he reacted, his tail and his ears straight and his eyes wide. “How is it you managed to be even more wrong than normal, Fox?!” He snapped.

“Calm down,” Clara chuckled, a noise she hadn’t really given into since Francis had gone missing, “we’re both just teasing each other. It’s been a while since I acted…”

“Enough shop talk,” the fox said as he turned around, having pulled out a pot from the fridge, “let’s eat!”

~

After dinner, Clara found herself mentally drained. Katz didn’t eat the gumbo again, which made her wonder if he had eaten anything of substance since yesterday, but she didn’t pry. He was a big boy, he could handle himself. He wasn't like she had been not too long ago. In any case, she and Cajun polished off the remaining gumbo. Truth be told, it reminded her just a bit of her time in Louisiana with Francis, the memory having been buried since Francis passed. It brought up more memories of him, more than she cared to admit, leaving her quiet. The orange haired man did enough talking for all three of them though, most of which was funny, amusing, and just plain odd at times.

Clara was glad that there was no incident like last night when the trio decided to go to sleep. She brushed her teeth first and changed into her blue pajama set. By the time Katz got into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Clara was out on the bed, worn out from the day of excitement, stress, and planning of a scam.

She dreamt that night. With the floodgates open of memories with Francis, she dreamt of their travels. Train hopping and bus sneaking were their favorite ways to travel when they were young. It wasn’t just Louisiana that they visited, but other southern states, even a few out to the west. Any further and they may have settled elsewhere. So many memories, so much laughter and successful schemes, so many close calls that made the risk worth it. Of course her memories-turned-dreams would morph into nightmares.

Francis’ corpse, bullets ripped through his guts, looking at him at the morgue...and worse, he started to talk in her nightmare, bloody foam and guts leaking out of his mouth as part of his facial skin started to slide off.  _ ‘So that’s it? That’s all I’m worth? A mere month of mourning and you’re off with not just one, but  _ **_two_ ** _ guys? I guess I should take it as a compliment that it takes two to replace me, but wow Winnie, I thought we had something good. Guess it mattered more to me than you, doll. It always did.’ _

In the midst of the nightmare-Francis berating her, Clara must have started to move and talk in her sleep. It was one of the few times she remembered half-waking, breathing heavily as if she had been running, with her cheeks damp from tears she had been unwittingly shedding. But that wasn’t what woke her, nor was it the nightmare itself. No, it was an external noise.

“Shh...shh, dear girl...shh…” It wasn’t just the words, but there was a physical sensation she couldn’t account for at first. She had turned towards the noise unconsciously and she felt a warm hand pressed against her upper back, rubbing small circles. The voice sounded tired and half-awake themselves, the touch a simple but consistent movement. 

Eyes now open, it took a moment to adjust to what she was seeing. Of course, it didn’t help that the tears had blurred her vision at first. When she was finally able to see, moonlight peeking in through the curtain to illuminate the room, she realized she was staring at...a chest. Katz’s chest. And it was his hand rubbing her back. It was his voice murmuring, tired as it was, reassurances. It was his face she saw when she looked up, though he didn’t see her looking at him as his own eyes were still closed loosely. “Shh, sweet girl, shh…” 

Any remnants of sleep left her. All her treacherous mind whispered from her nightmare one last time:  _ ‘Guess it mattered more to me than you, doll. It always did’ _ . A fresh sob bubbled through her lips, the air ripped from her lungs as she gave into it all: the grief, the self-loathing, the guilt, the pain. She pressed herself against Katz, her arm wrapped around him to press against his back as she trembled and shook, crying freely.

This woke Katz up fully. There was the sound of him shuffling, the feel of him sitting up ever so slightly to get a better look of what was going on. No, she wasn’t physically injured, he could reassure himself of that, but it only offered a second of comfort. His other arm wrapped around her and while one hand kept rubbing circles on her upper back, the other simply rested on the small of her back. She could feel his body relax slightly against the bed, but she knew his eyes were still open and on her. He let her get it out, sobs and all. After a couple of minutes, she heard his voice, no longer tired but still just as cotton soft, “Shh....shh…it’s alright. You’re safe, Clara, you’re alright...shh…” 

Later, not now, Clara would marvel that that was the first time he had used her name. Now, however, she was still in the mess of emotions that the nightmare had caused. She gave a sniffle and a hiccup, feeling her limbs tremble as she tried to sit up a bit. The tears had stopped and the sorrow had lessened, but there was still the unease and fear from the words and image her mind produced of Francis. She knew Katz felt her entire body trembling because his tail, conscious or otherwise, reached up to wrap around her waist, a sign of reassurance. 

Clara had to work on minimizing the shaking by taking deep, slow breaths. His steady, constant warm touch helped with that. When she looked up, she realized that Katz had shifted to partially sit up against the headboard. His yellow eyes glowed in the dimly lit room, bright and wide, taking her in. She would feel embarrassed tomorrow in the light of day, but tonight, she didn’t have enough room in her for that. She rubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes, banishing the last bit of tears. 

“I...I’m sorry,” when she spoke, her voice shook, “I didn’t mean to...to wake you.” And he was indeed awake, wide awake if his gaze was any indication. It was only then that Clara registered that she was still in his arms, body pressed against his. Her face flushed.

If Katz was bothered by this, he didn’t let it be known.The only real difference was that his hand had stopped rubbing circles on her back, but he kept his hold on and around her. “It is fine. It isn’t the first time...nor will it be the last.” 

Clara blinked. “Wait, what?” She sat up a bit straighter. “What do you...not the first time?”

Katz let his hands fall back to his lap, though his tail remained still. He gave a scoff, but there was no bite or edge to his tone. “Foolish girl, do you really think you’ve slept through the nights since I arrived?” He sighed. “You’ve had nightmares nearly every night. Usually you don’t wake as you did tonight. I am typically able to...soothe you back to sleep before it escalates.” He seemed a bit... _ embarrassed _ to admit this. 

Clara didn’t respond right away, but processed the information. Well, yes, she supposed it made sense that she did in fact have nightmares every night. She had had nightmares shortly after Francis’ death but before Katz had moved himself in, be it night slumbers or daytime naps. She had had a nightmare during her nap the other day and at Courage’s. It was indeed foolish of her to assume these had stopped abruptly. And yet...she was shocked to find out that Katz had been calming her in her sleep for the past several nights. And how did he do that? Tired, half-awake caresses and murmurings. 

The human wasn’t entirely sure how to handle that revelation. Had that factored some of his original emotional reaction to Cajun when bed layouts had been discussed the other night? Oh, the recollection of the fox made Clara tense; had the fox heard her cries? No, or else he would have barged in or something, wouldn’t he? One problem at a time, she decided.

“You...you have?” She finally said a bit stupidly. At his uncomfortable slight nod of the head, she took a shaky breath. “Um...thank you then, Katz.” She murmured softly. There was a mixture of emotion, particularly with the relief and gratitude. “You...you didn’t have to…”

He gave an uncharacteristic snort and shifted his weight, sitting back a bit more comfortably though it didn’t put much distance between them. “No, I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to sleep.”

A soft blush appeared on her face though it was hard to spot in the dim light. “I mean, you could have just kicked me awake and let me handle it.”

His ears twitched, catching the soft vulnerability in her tone. He cleared his throat and looked away. “I could have...but I am not that heartless.” Was it the trick of the light or was he blushing as well? “If that is all, girl, we should both return to our slumber. Tomorrow will be a long day and we need to be sharp for it.” He started to slide lower on the bed to lay down, but he didn’t make a move to extract himself from Clara. He was, after all, on ‘his side’ of the bed. Gingerly, his tail unwrapped from her. It surprised her how she immediately missed that sensation.

Nodding, she gave a sigh and followed his lead, sliding down to lay completely flat once more. “Yes...tomorrow.” She didn’t roll away or scoot back though, instead opting to remain facing him and being within arms reach -- just in case of another nightmare, she told herself. Katz didn’t protest. 


End file.
